


Capture My Good Side

by BookishTea



Series: Molliarty [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Plot, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Guilty Pleasures, I don't know how this will end, Illusions, Mirror Sex, Moriarty is Dead, Nude Photos, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Photography, Porn With Plot, Possessive Sex, Regret, Secrets, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Confusion, molliarty - Freeform, or is he???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 23:39:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 31,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13328862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookishTea/pseuds/BookishTea
Summary: “Photography is all about secrets. The secrets we all have and will never tell.”





	1. Exposure

                                                          

 

Softly Molly cursed, balancing on a stool as she reached upwards. Instead of enjoying her Sunday morning, she had spent it turning her flat upside down over a silly yearbook. Meena had needed it for her cousin, he had been in the same year as them in secondary school, and was getting married. He and his future husband met as freshmen, and everyone thought showing off their photos had been an embarrassing but adorable idea. The problem was that neither Meena nor the soon-to-be-wed couple kept theirs, leaving Molly to be the one to root through her belongings.

And the only place left was her closet, and true enough, that’s exactly where she found it.

“C’mon, you bloody thing,” she hissed, fingers brushing against the troublesome book. Of course, it had to be on the top shelf. What she wouldn’t give to be a few inches taller. In one last desperate attempt, she jumped up, fingers outstretched to grab a hold. She miscalculated, and not only did she and the yearbook fall, but the nearby shoe box as well. "Shit!" Harshly she landed on the ground, and as graceful as she was, tripped over a high-heel left from her earlier rummaging. 

Toby lifted his head from where he'd been sleeping, on Molly's bed, meowing in annoyance at the disruption. Humans are so noisy. Molly ignored the sound, absently rubbing her sore ass.

The object of her frustrations before her, she lifted the book up with a sigh. "Well, at least I can now give this to Meena." Slowly climbing to her feet, she placed the book on her dresser, not wanting to lose it again. Turning back to the fallen stool and box, she tucked an escaped strand of hair behind her ear, "Better clean this mess up." Kneeling in front, she began to pick up the miscellaneous items. Rocks from the beach that she had thought were pretty, postcards, letters, dried flowers, and some polaroids. Brows knitted together with lack of remembrance, she picked one up and flipped it over. At once she was caught off guard, a pit of mixed emotions settling heavily in her belly.

The image was blurry around the edges, but still she could make it out. It was from one of her dates with Jim, before the whole _I'm-a-criminal-mastermind_ mess, where they went on an admittedly pleasant outing of mini golf. She chewed on her bottom lip, staring at their laughing faces. A staff member at the course had been nice enough to take it for them, forms bent over a plastic replica of the Eiffel tower. She felt guilty conceding that it was one of the best dates she's ever been on, even if the bloke she'd been with was pretending to be some IT drone.

How silly they were, posing like they were having a duel with their golf clubs, fighting to drop the ball in the last hole. Molly sighed, placing it back in the box. Grabbing another photo, she told herself she wouldn't look, wouldn't reminisce on something that would cause nothing but pain. But a small selfish voice nagged at the corner of her mind, curiosity plucking until she gave it a quick peek. One small glimpse couldn't hurt, it wasn't like she was killing anyone, or doing anything bad. She choked on her saliva, regretting the decision.

It was her, back to the camera in nothing but her underwear. Jim had spent the night that time, and stayed even after they finished Glee and the ice cream in Molly's freezer. A welcomed change in their relationship. She'd been getting undressed for a shower when he took the first shot. Hands lifting her shirt up, she had been at first surprised and then amused. The camera had made a frequent appearance in their time together. The earliest debut had been their second date, he'd brought it for their after work coffee, and suggested they went to the park. It was one of the reasons she continued to see Jim, the moment had felt very personal, that he'd let her see a hobby that was dear to him. That show of intimacy hadn't been present with the other guys she saw, the taste of that vulnerability was addicting. Even now she was touched to see a side of Jim Moriarty that even Sherlock never witnessed. Well... She hoped it had been real...

He'd even shown her how to use it, the beginning attempts were awful, but she got better. While Jim liked to take dramatic photos, grey intimidating giants for buildings, neon signs from downtown, or stormy roads and people. Molly enjoyed the ones about life, mainly strangers going through their daily motions. To others that might seem invasive, that perhaps she was a peeping tom, but it was never meant in anything other than fascination. Usually it had been people waiting for the tube, standing in front of a food cart, or a pair of friends sharing a pint. Mainly she liked to capture photos of Jim, mostly when he wasn't looking. Because when they were together, it always seemed as if he'd magically disappear in a puff a smoke. Maybe the photos were a way to reassure herself that he was real, that someone held honest interest in mousy Molly. And when he caught her, he never minded like she thought he would, instead he'd give her a crooked smile, pecked her on the cheek and held her hand a little bit tighter.

At that point, it was impossible for that bulky vintage camera not to follow them into the bedroom. The rest of the photos were a collection of smutty visuals. A recurring theme of Molly and her poor lingerie, unable to help from smiling as she stared up at the viewer. Jim had even bought her some new sets, which had been embarrassing, that he went into some shop and picked out matching bras and panties. Later on, she was grateful for the thought and the fact that they weren't cheap things, they were actually quite lovely. Paired with a flattering shade of lipstick (Jim didn't think her lips were too thin, ha!), Molly felt a new sense of confidence, that she was sexy too.

Photos of her laying on her bed, hair messy and lipstick smeared. She looked happy. There wasn't nearly enough of Jim, but the ones she did have were breathtaking. Him asleep with Toby on his lap after binge watching crappy telly. A clumsy close up, or Molly's personal favourite, when she had straddled his chest and took a picture of his face. After knowing his true identity, this resembled the 'other Jim' more closely. Eyes hooded with lust, he smirked up at her as if to say, _what are you going to do now, Molls?_ She lingered there.

What are you going to do now? She dropped the photo into the box, shoving it out of sight into her closet.

* * *

 

He came later that night, not in a real sense, the Jim she knew was long dead. This phantom of a man emerged in her dreams, which should've been better described as nightmares. As that's precisely what he did, tormented her with his smirks and knowing gaze. She hadn't been able to sleep, tossing and turning to find the best position. Molly merely tangled her sheets. Red numbers on her alarm clock reading 2:15 am, she begged any deity listening to grant her some much deserved slumber. It never came. At one instance, she thought she would pass out from exhaustion, and while on the cusp of doing so, she felt a warmth settle in beside her. 

Eyes flying open, she stared at her wall in disbelief. A distinctly human hand brushed against her waist, slipping under her shirt. Fingers sliding along the skin of her stomach, she twisted around.  

Jim stared back, eyes crinkled with laughter, "Did you miss me?" Molly opened her mouth, but caught herself. It was like time had reversed, the once dark room was now alight with the parted window curtains, letting the sunset spill in.

"Yes," she breathed; Jim leaned down, catching her in a kiss. It was rougher than Jim from IT had been, a lot more tongue and teeth. Gasping when she pulled away, she turned her head to the side, feeling him trailing away from the corner of her mouth to her jaw and eventual neck. It was as if his death never happened, like he didn't care.

He drifted down her neck, enjoying running his tongue along her collarbone. She shivered, seizing a hold of his hair, that it'd ground her in this reality. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she knew this was a dream, a bit weird but still a dream. Her mind had just mixed up a memory and her current understanding of him in a perplexing but hot mess. Lord forgive her, but it was hot.

Jim paused, peering up to raise an eyebrow, "Be a dear, Molls?" Nodding, she lifted her hands up, letting him take her shirt off. Satisfied with the expansion of his canvas, he threw her offensive garment to the ground. "Now where were we?" He grinned, knowing fully well Molly's lack of ability to talk. Dragging his fingers up her sides, his nails lightly scraped along her skin, causing faint white lines.

"Jim, please," she whispered. Afraid whatever was said and how loud would ruin this illusion. 

" _Yessss?"_ He hissed, dipping down to kiss each breast. Happy that Molly preferred to sleep without a bra.

"Stop being a fucking tease." Jim's head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "Please," she tried again gently, not caring how painfully impatient she sounded.

"Oh, Molls," Jim sighed in disappointment, "and you were doing _so well_." Before she could question what he meant, he was sitting up, pulling her bottoms down and off her legs. He then set his attention to her panties, her ugly plain grandma undies. Yanking it down, he offhandedly tossed it over his shoulder where it joined the rest of her clothes. Molly felt her face warm, blush spreading to her chest as she panted. They had sex before, but each time was different, something she never got used to. Jim, whether a criminal mastermind or dressed as a dorky guy from IT, left her feeling so _exposed_. Even now, in this dream, his eyes ate up her naked body. Nothing was off limits, her fears and passions, they were all his. 

Dark eyes watching her become a melted mess, he crawled in front of her, pushing her legs open. She couldn't look away, not when he pointedly licked his lips and flashed her a wink. This was it, she was going insane. Molly clutched the bed sheets around her, waiting with baited breath as he stole a pillow and propped her up. Contentedly, he got into a relaxed position in between her thighs. The hot air from his breathing causing Molly to shudder, he bore his eyes into her's. And true to his character, to his title of being Moriarty: an _evil fuck!_ He got as close as he could, barely an inch away, then suddenly tilted his head so he started to kiss her inner thigh instead.

"Jim!" She groaned, frustrated beyond belief. What horrible things had she done in her life to deserve this?! To prevent his murder (then she'd have to suffer alone), she screwed her eyes closed, blindly grabbing Jim's hair and tried to re-direct him downwards. Of course in her stupid dream, nothing she wanted worked out. He only laughed at her, chuckling against her skin as he pressed another heated kiss. "Why are you doing this to me?" Molly mumbled, as much as to the ghost of her ex-boyfriend as to herself. After all, it was her own warped psyche that was orchestrating all of this. He bit down hard, soothing the pain with a drag from his tongue. "Jim!" She cursed, eyes opening.

Snorting with laughter, he opened his mouth for a mocking comment and meowed. Molly blinked. Meowed? "Jim, what are y-"

A paw tapped at the side of her face, insisting that she wake up. Her dream popped like a bubble.

"Cut it out, Toby," she groaned, rolling over. Things had finally been getting good.

He meowed again, louder this time. Begrudging Molly had to come to terms that she wouldn't be going back to sleep, blinking against the morning light, she checked on her clock. 8:52 am. Cursing, she peeled her blankets off and got out of bed. If she didn't hurry, she'd be late for work.

Running to the bathroom, she took her sweaty shirt off. If she was quick maybe she could get rid of the mess dream-Jim had left behind and have a shower. Closing the door behind her with her foot, she really didn't need to hear Toby meow while she came, she slipped her wet panties off. Letting them pool around her feet, she bent over the tub, turning the tap so water sprayed overhead. Waiting so she wouldn't freeze to death, she darted a glance to the already fogging mirror.

She looked tired, hair in knots and dark circles under her eyes. Staring at her naked self, slowly, her gaze dropped down, landing on the undoubtedly recent bite mark. Molly took a double take, pinching herself, but it didn't go away. 

_What are you going to do now, Molls?_


	2. Exposure Compensation

What's the procedure for having a wet dream of your deceased evil ex-boyfriend? Molly hadn't the slightest clue what to do. And in response to deal with it, she decided it was best to pretend that it never happened. She went to work in a daze, merely following the motions throughout the day. The only possible person who could snap her out of it, set her on edge, hadn't shown for a spare toe or two. In short, the morgue had been uneventful; all of her wits seemed to have left her, no matter how hard she tried, she came to think of the dream over and over again - caught like a fly in a web.

"Molly..." Her head lifted, momentarily free.

"Oh, sorry. What did you say?"

Meena sighed, standing in her kitchen with a hand on her hip. "Your tea, did you want it with honey or brown sugar?"

Molly squinted, chewing her bottom lip. "It's... Um?"

"The tea is lemon ginger and turmeric."

"Best be honey, sorry for the bother." She smiled at the "Oh, hush," taking the time to lean back on the couch. In the background there was French music playing, Meena didn't know any, she just thought the language sounded beautiful. Desperately she'd been trying to get Molly to go, and ever so often a mysterious brochure for Paris tourism found itself in the pathologist's bag. Yearbook on the coffee table, she'd already flipped through it, there was nothing to do but take in the decor. Whenever Molly came over, the living room seemed to have changed. The once pear walls were now a dark orange, and the furniture had been forgone for shades of chocolate brown and greys. It was cozy.

"Painted again?!"

"Yes!" Came the shout with a spoon nosily stirring. "New colour, new me!"

"Didn't work out with...?"

Her friend walked into the room carrying their teacups, "Lisa. And don't be a know it all, I thought she was the one." She handed Molly her's, taking the end of the couch.

Softly Molly blew on her tea, mumbling, "Don't you always think that?" She immediately regretted the words when they left her mouth. Meena lifted a hand up, brow raised. "Sorry..."

Satisfied, Meena took a sip, letting the hot liquid warm her before she cleared her throat. "Yes, but I like to think myself as a romantic. And what about you?" The sudden memory of Jim between her thighs made Molly cough, who then pretended that she hadn't. And in trying to act casual, her sudden sweating and weak smile made everything worse by a tenfold. Unimpressed, Meena stared at her, "Off with it then."

Molly eyed the thread count of the carpet, "O-off with what? I haven't said anything."

"You didn't have to. Molly, you're redder than a tomato." Shakily the pathologist rose a hand to her face, feeling the warmth radiating. Okay, maybe she was.

"There's not much to tell, I'm not dating anyone."

"But...?" Meena set her tea down, leaning in close. "There's something you aren't telling me."

"I... I just had a dream, that's all." The feeling of her friend's eyes on her had Molly gulping; her grip tightened around her cup. "It was just a dream..."

"Molly, if you don't tell me what's going on, I'm going to tackle you. Tea and all, and you'll never get to leave." She opened her mouth. "Don't test me, you know what happened last time." Molly closed her mouth, wincing at the memory. It had taken forever to get the pasta sauce off the ceiling. You could still see some spots, if you knew where to look. Personally, she thought Meena kept it to remind her, to bully the fear out of her in times like these.

"...You'll think less of me when you hear it..."

Meena snorted, "Does it involve a child or a dog?"

"What?"

"Your _erotic dream_ , did it have a kid or some animal?"

Molly blanched, face twisting with disgust. "Christ! No, Meena! Wh-"

"Because," her friend stressed, "then I won't care. Now, if you're done with being silly, who was it?... It wasn't..." _Me?_

"God, no!" Offended, Meena pouted. "It... How did you even know that I had a... That kind of dream?" To distract herself, Molly took a sip of her tea, burning her tongue.

"Besides, you inadvertently admitted it? You only get like this when it comes to two things: crushes and Sherlock, which typically go hand in hand." She had her there.

"You don't have to rub it in..."

" _Molly._ "

"Okay, okay!" Taking in a steadying breath, she said everything in her exhale. "ItwasJim." 

"I-" Quickly Molly cut her off, "I know, I know! But that doesn't mean anything, right? I just found the photos an-" A hand smelling of coconut cream covered her mouth, silencing her. "I didn't understand a word you said, you need to _calm down_." That delicious smelling hand stayed for a second longer (she'd have to remember to ask what brand of lotion it was), waiting for Molly to collect her thoughts before dropping.

Second attempt, here we go. In a small voice, Molly finally said it. "I dreamt of Jim last night." 

"Oh. Jim, as in _your_ Jim, the bonkers one." The thought of him being _her's_ left a sour taste in Molly's mouth, but still she nodded. "Right, well..." Meena looked down, staring at the teacup in her hand and silently wished she brought out the wine instead. There was a bottle somewhere in the fridge, behind the leftover take out and too many bottles of condiments. They could use a drink... Or four... "How was it? The imaginary sex...?" 

Molly swallowed her tea the wrong way, reduced to a horrible coughing fit. When she surfaced, she was redder than before (which had seemed impossible), and tears were rolling down her cheeks. "Meena!"

Her friend immediately became defensive at her tone, "What?! Why can't I know? It's not like you hear this stuff everyday!"

"I'm not here to tell you about my dirty dreams!" She pointedly rolled her eyes at Meena's huff of disappointment, "Look, you got your yearbook. Tell your cousin, I said congratulations, but I have to leave."

"Molly, stop being so dramatic!" When she made the move to get up, Meena grasped her wrist, "Please don't be upset, I wouldn't do something to intentionally hurt you." Sighing loudly, Molly sat back down. Meena waited until she was settled again before asking with an impish grin, "I guess that means it was good."

Face and ears flushed, carefully Molly set her teacup on the coffee table. Grabbing a pillow from the sofa, she then proceeded to hit Meena with it. After a few rather light hits, the sweet girl was going easy on her, Meena grabbed onto the pillow. Laughing at the absurdity she said, "Ease up! I didn't think you'd get like this." She received a resigned chuckle, happiness lowering when she saw the other's tired expression. Don't get her wrong, Meena loved a good laugh here and there to ease up any tension, but if something was legitimately rattling her friend... She dropped the antics, placing a hand on Molly's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

In Molly's search of a way to begin, things had become quiet. When she eventually found herself, the atmosphere was tense with Meena's concern.

"In my dream Jim bit me, but when I went to have a shower I noticed it was there... The mark."

Meena's brow furrowed, unsure whether she heard that correctly. "From the bite? In the same place?" Molly nodded. "Are you sure? You could have gotten a bruise without realizing it."

"I know what a bite mark looks like."

"No one's saying you don't, but you have to admit you're rather clumsy." Despite that being true, she wasn't so sure. And certainly the idea of having an ex-boyfriend haunt her did sound silly, but Molly knew that there was something more happening. She just didn't know what. "You'll have to show me."

Molly chewed on her bottom lip, gaze looking away, "It's um, in a risky spot."

"Enough that you'll have to take off your knickers? Lucky you, your ghost is the kinky sort." Unable to think of an excuse or a witty retort, Molly stood up, feeling a tad strange as she started to unbutton her trousers. Meena, the medical professional she was, didn't make any comments. But wasn't able to prevent winking whenever Molly awkwardly met her gaze. Fumbling making the process longer than it ought to have been, the stubborn garment sooner than later came off. Pants to her knees, she turned her body to let the inspection begin. 

When they had come off, Molly had the spontaneous and irrational fear of what if she imagined the whole thing, that she was in fact going crazy. As her estranged mother had long thought. Quickly the scare vanished at the sight of the bite mark. She let out a relieved exhale. "Well?"

 "...I think this means we need to go the pub, and get you laid. Because _that_ is clearly a bruise."

"What?!" Molly frowned, bending slightly to gesture at the mark. "No, it isn't! Are you even looking?!"

"Yes, and I'm sorry, but maybe you're projecting. Making yourself believe it's something when it's not."

"Why would I project over Jim?"

"I don't know, you tell me." They stared at each other, locked in a silent battle; Molly with her trousers still pulled down, and Meena sipping her tea.

* * *

 

When Molly got back home it was late. After their little war, Meena dragged her to the pub down the street, convinced if she met someone then Jim would no longer cloud over her thoughts. Per usual, the only men there were significantly older than her, and didn't have any interest in a woman that owned a cat and held a medical degree. Not that she minded too much, she figured she deserved better. The majority of the night she nursed a drink at the bar, Meena encouraging her to mingle until she got bored and flirted with the bartender, Shay. Or was it Shadia? Who knows anymore; at least someone got lucky tonight.

More than a bit tipsy, Molly tossed her purse on the couch, leaving a lamp on as she stumbled to the bedroom. Trying not to think about how she had to go to work in the morning, she crawled into bed. Slipping a hand under her shirt, she unlatched her bra and took it off, throwing it into the corner of the room where she'd clean it later. Sighing, she finally climbed under the covers. A weight landed next to her side, giving a soft chirp in greeting. Eyes burning with the need to sleep, Molly stared at the ceiling, holding her hand out for Toby. He nudged it, rubbing his head in hopes of getting a scratch.

Molly gave him a few pets before turning on her side. Even if she ignored all of the excitement of today, it was hard dozing off. Directly across from her was a closet, which she currently couldn't forget about. It was as if any second Jim would walk out of the literal and metaphorical closet, willing to prove Sherlock wrong. At the very least, that he wasn't someone to limit himself to one gender.

The thought of his return was unsettling, how her dread was tinged with arousal. Molly screwed her eyes closed, trying to fight off sleep like that would stop Jim from making an appearance. As if that pitiful attempt would make a difference, there was no point, he already had his claws sunk in. He did that with people, tainting them. She groaned, flipping over and covering her head with the pillow. Toby, who had already curled up, made a disgruntled sound at being disturbed. Even in the midst of having a panic attack over her virtues being sullied, a sexually frustrated Molly mumbled out an apology. 

"Goodnight," she whispered. And who she meant it towards was up to debate. It could have easily been for either Toby or Jim, although Molly would say it was for her cat. The thought of acknowledging a ghost was terrifying, especially since it was the criminal mastermind himself. Molly dug deeper into the blanket, wondering if that would conjure him, a part of her hoped it would...


	3. Time Lapse

She’s standing in St. James’s park, shivering from the nipping wind at her back. On the shore of its lake, she struggles to handle the camera with her numb hands. Across from where she stands, there she can see the London Eye in the distance. She lifts the camera up to her face, now feeling a body press into her back. Smiling at the smell of coffee and cold chapped lips kissing the exposed skin of her neck, she presses the shutter button. A light flashes, and there’s a churning sound as the image processes. Without thinking, she takes the photo that slides out, turning it over to watch as it develops. A weight is now on her shoulder, Jim resting his head as he joins in. He wraps an arm around her, holding a styrofoam cup.

Molly smiles as she takes it, gratefully taking a sip. He remembered how she takes her coffee, with cream and sugar. "Thanks," she breathes, leaning backwards. They stand there for a moment as the image finally comes through, the landscape before them.

"Does it taste okay? I was worried I might have gotten it wrong." Molly scrunches her nose, completely fond and falling deeper. He was as timid as she was, making sure he never hurt her. His goofy attitude, blushing, and kindness, they were all so... Perfect. The timing of their meeting in itself was a miracle. An end to a streak of short lived relationships, of guys never calling her back, being intimidated by her weirdness. But never Jim, he knew what she did for a living, even laughed at her terrible morbid jokes. To set him at ease, Molly took another lengthy sip, letting the liquid heat her.

"It's good, really good." He had grabbed her chin then, his warm hands tilting her head. Lazily they kissed, both slightly shivering from the wind. When they pull back, Jim is giving her a look that has her going in for seconds. It's sweet and serene, and Molly can't believe her luck. How such a nice guy would ever consider her. Jim takes her away from those thoughts, stealing the photo from her grasp. She's thrilled when he beams at it, filled with a sense of pride when he says, "You've gotten so much better. Amazing." She smiles back at him, because no one has ever said that. Sherlock never does, never stops for a second to tell her that she matters.

It's awful, thinking of Sherlock when Jim is with her, but she does that - sometimes wishes she were with someone else. Maybe she just likes to long for things that aren't her's, will never be. Jim puts the photo in his jacket pocket, grabbing her hand and leads her away.

They walk out of the park, taking their time as they chat about life in between sips. Molly tells him about some interesting corpses, not sharing all of the details because she thinks it'll be off-putting. It has been for everyone else she's met. But once again he surprises her, saying, "I don't want you to hide anything from me, Molls. Your job is important to you, so it means a lot to me too."

"I..." She doesn't know what to say, flounders for a second. "I'm sorry, I don't know to... That means a lot."

Jim merely smiles at her, "Well, I meant it." Blushing, Molly looks away. They fall into an easy silence, swinging their joined hands. 

"Have you ever heard of the joke about a pathologist and a lawyer?"

With a startled blink, Jim's gaze shifts from the sky and onto her with a grin. "No, what is it?"

"I first heard it in uni, it's not the most original, but I like it."

Jim's hand tightens on her's, letting her know she has his interest as he rubs his thumb on her chilled skin. "Go on then."

"Um..." Molly furrows her brow, trying to remember how it went. "So, there's this pathologist on the stand for a wrongful death trial. The prosecutor asks the pathologist, 'How can you be so sure the patient had died? Did you check his pulse?' The pathologist replies, 'No.' The lawyer asks again, 'Did you listen to his heart with a stethoscope?' 'No.' The lawyer grins, 'Then, I will ask you one more time, how did you know he was dead?'" Molly pauses, glancing at the other's face to gauge his reaction so far. It was polite, waiting for the punchline with a hint of a smile. Clearing her throat, she got on with it. 

"The pathologist replies, 'Well, his brain was sitting on my desk, but I guess he could have been practicing law somewhere.'" She flinches at the sudden sound next to her, Jim chortling. Biting her bottom lip, she becomes embarrassed, but is still very happy. His laughter is loud and high-pitched, a noise that she's never heard before. What makes it so gob-smacking is that it's genuine, that his eyes are crinkling around the edges when he gives her a toothy cackle. There goes a piece of her heart, Molly knows fully well that he owns it now. A tad scared of that, she giggles nervously.

"Molly," Jim mumbles shaking his head in between a few bubbles of snickering, "you're a real treasure." His words are dangerous, pulling on her heartstrings. She knows he can feel her hand trembling, she raises her cup to her mouth. The laughter quiets down and they step onto the street sidewalk, now joining the rest of London. Desperate to be in control again, she tries to let go of his hand. His eyes are on her, can feel it deep in her bones. Odd that, her hair standing up on end. It never did that before, not with gentle Jim.

Wordlessly, he makes a decision, and drops his hold on her. Goofy once more, he changes the conversation back to a cute cat video he saw online. 

* * *

 

They're back at her place, Molly bent over the oven in the kitchen, putting a frozen pepperoni pizza in. After setting the old stone on the rack, she shuts the door, double checking the temperature and time. 450°F for twenty minutes. Brushing her hands free of shredded cheese, she goes to see where Jim ran off to. She finds him in the living room, standing in front of the shelving unit reading a book. The cover is of a tombstone littered from a party of some kind, promptly she places it as her copy of  _After the Funeral: The Posthumous Adventures of Famous Corpses._

"The pizza is cooking." Molly fiddles with the buttons on her jumper, peering at the book and how Jim is enjoying it. "I have more to choose from... If it isn't your taste." (Obviously, Molly. There's a whole bookshelf behind him.) She spies a look; he stares back, amused.

"It's all very good."

"Got it from an old friend," Molly says, just because she needs to do something instead of mucking around with a stupid look on her face. "Thought he fancied me at the time, we actually went for a... a few drinks." Molly owlishly blinks, remembering how it was probably weird to be talking about a bloke she dated to the guy she was currently with. Never a great thing to do. "S-sorry I, um..." Flustered, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, "Sorry, I made everything go to shit a-"

"Molly." He has his finger on her mouth, successfully silencing her. "It's all right, I'm not the best at this either. So calm down, yeah?" She nods, but still feels pitiful. But he's back at it, making her feel appreciated. "Why don't we watch some telly while we wait?"

They ended up catching the end to a Doctor Who episode, which, although Molly had already seen, quickly whispered the plot summary to a confused Jim. It was rather criminal of him not being up to date on the show, and when she said that he ended up in a snorting fit of laughter. Molly had smiled, even if she thought it hadn't been that funny. Perched on the end of her seat, she gave an occasional sniff as she watched Matt Smith's the Doctor ask an art curator his opinion on Vincent van Gogh. Pressing a hand into her face to cover her tears, she watched as Vincent became overwhelmed at the future artistic legacy he'd leave behind, slowly turning around in the gallery to take in his paintings.

When he started to cry, Molly knew she was screwed. Whatever dignity she wanted to have on this date was gone, unbidden tears pouring forth. Startled at a sudden nudge, she rapidly blinked at the tissue box being offered. "Thanks," she mumbled, taking a tissue and dabbing at her eyes. Smiling at her, Jim slid in closer, throwing his arm around her and drawing her close. "I-I'm sorry, I'm acting like a loser."

"I don't think so." Jim kissed the side of her forehead, rubbing her shoulder. Wiping her eyes, Molly leaned further into him, sighing heavily. This coziness lasted only a few moments longer, the scent of something burning finally reaching them.

* * *

 

Molly cursed loudly, muffled by her face pressing into her pillow. It was as much from her awful headache and the irritating sunlight, as the dream she'd just woken from. The embarrassment of remembering such an event happened had her dying inside, how he probably laughed afterwards while plotting some evil plans - or whatever he did. Groaning, she hoped a stray meteorite would hit her flat, ending her painful existence. Unfortunately, it never came, and she was forced to drag her body out of bed for work.


	4. Flash

The truth about things, Molly doesn't handle stress too well - especially not with the kind she has been dealt. But she figured no one really could, not with Jim Moriarty. Currently, she was at work, ignoring her better judgement of returning home, and instead squinting at her desk. On it was a paper for the autopsy she'd done, before this whole mess started. She scrubbed at her face in vexation, only now she's started it. Everything had really thrown her through a loop.

Fuelled by determination, she lifted her pen, willing the smears of text to make sense. A knock rapped on her desk, startled, she looked up.

Jim stared back, smirking as he said, "Need help?"

Impressed that her hands were only trembling slightly, Molly reached for her cuppa and took a sip. It was still warm; she tossed it at him. Jim took a quick step back, barely dodging it. "Molls," he tsked, "is that the proper way to treat your boyfriend?"

" _Ex-boyfriend_ ," she hissed, "I broke up with you!"

"Really?" His smirk stretched, dropping Molly's stomach with it. "That's not how I remember it."

"H-how d..." She stopped, wishing she took the words back, that she didn't further their conversation.

Pleased that she took the bait, Jim walked around the desk, mindful of the puddle. He was dressed in a sharp suit, the one she recognized with a flinch when he came in with a self inflicted bullet wound. The one he had died in. Choking, she sat back in her chair, yearning that her office space wasn't so small. He sat on the corner, leaning in until Molly couldn't properly breathe.

"For starters, I remember all of the good times we had together, even if it was cut rather short. Or did you forget?" Molly swallowed thickly, but refused to say another word. Jim pouted, "Oh, I was afraid of that, thankfully I brought some evidence to jog your memory!" _Evidence...?_ In slow motion, Molly watched as he withdrew a photo from his trousers, setting it on the wood before her. He gave it a tap, pinning her in place with the sound. She didn't want to look, she didn't w- She peered downwards, trembling at the image. It was a naked body, view cut off so the head wasn't visible, but she knew who it was immediately. It was her's.

"I didn't forget." Shivering at a hand caressing the side of her face, she remained frozen. "Molls..." He sighed, tone flaying. He dropped his hand to her chin, lifting it up with his finger. She reluctantly met his gaze, feeling herself slipping away.

"What do you _want?"_ It came out angrier than either expected; Jim blinked for a second, before his smirk came back.

"You know, I really _adore_ how feisty you get. Underneath all of those hideous jumpers, who knew you had a backbone?" Molly bit the inside of her cheek, nose scrunching. She was tired of people belittling her, of Jim and... and _Sherlock_   treating her like a toy to be discarded after being used. "No, I think I like this better," Jim leered, "when you get that _murderous_ look of your's." Before Molly could snap back at him, Jim was swooping down, harshly kissing her. Frustration muffled, she bit down on his lip until she tasted blood. Instead of the preferred discomfort, he gave a groan of pleasure, grabbing the back of her head. When he pulled back, Jim was gasping, bottom lip bleeding. To Molly's mounting dismay, she watched in arousal as he licked it - expression dark afterwards.

"Tell me again why we didn't do this before?" He breathed, taking in Molly's own flustered state.

"Because, you were too busy trying to kill my friends like a... Like the twat you are!"

"Ouch, Molls. That hurt." He clutched at his chest, pouting, "there's no reason to involve the female sex in our little spat." A grin suddenly emerged, "Unless...?"

Frowning at his expression, Molly's eyes suddenly widened as she tried to pull out her chair. His hands grabbed her wrists, holding her still. "Now, don't be rude. I was just offering a little stress relief." He frowned, demeanour turning into that of innocence. "I would hardly try anything you didn't want, I'm not _that_ kind of criminal, no matter what dear Sherlock might have said."

"Sherlock hasn't said anything!"

"Really?" That grip around her wrists tightened, not enough to hurt, but certainly to frighten, "I wonder why that is...? Fancy a guess?"

"N-no." _Yes._

"Well," Jim continued as if Molly had said otherwise, "our dear little detective is _jealous_."

Ears feeling like they were burning, Molly's curiosity got the better of her and she forced out, "Of who?"

For once Jim looked genuinely surprised, raising a brow. "Pardon, dear?"

" _Who,"_   she repeated, "is he jealous of? You or me?"

Jim sniffed, pulling Molly forward like a strung puppet. "Does it matter?" He leaned in close, nose brushing against her's. "He feels something either way."

"Yes."  _No._

She knew it wouldn't matter in the end, nothing would change asides for her having to help being even more pitiful. A hand dropped its hold around one of her wrists, choosing instead to rub underneath her eyes. Jim stared back at her, deadpan as he got rid of the tears. Blinking, Molly watched as a crack in his mask deepened, showing a glimmer of an emotion.

Molly swallowed, remembering that aside from all of the _horrible, monstrous_ things this man has done, he'd been nicer to her in that short time period than most people in her life had. Wrapped in silence,  Jim's gaze dropped to her lips, movement catching Molly hiccuping. He leaned in, softly their lips brushed aga-

"Molly!" Her head snapped up, swimming with stars.

Sherlock stared at her, brows furrowed at her dishevelled form. Her hair was messy - crying as well, there were papers scattered, and her coffee cup was dripping onto the floor. Noting all of these details he stepped into the room, trying again.

"We have a body that needs your attention, so gather yourself." Pushing her hair out of her face, Molly began to stammer. Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You haven't slept well recently, most likely because of your boyfriend." Molly's stammering increased, "Dump him, you're far more useful without him." He spun on his heel, taking a step into the morgue before he stopped.

Sherlock tossed a glance over his shoulder, "Oh, and you have drool on your face." To him that might have been the polite thing to do, considering what a mess his pathologist was - a worrying concept. To Molly, it was like a slap. Gripping the corners of the desk tightly, she watched as the door closed behind him before she started to laugh hysterically. It was official, she was going mental!


	5. Focus

There was a light drizzle of rain, spraying the people walking down the streets and the cars in a fine mist. Molly watched on through a window, folded arms leaning on the small wooden table she sat at. In the background soft jazz music played, soothing as kettles hissed, spoons stirred, and drinks were poured. She moved her attention away, taking the piping hot mug offered. She set it before her, mumbling "Thanks" as she reached for the cream pitcher. Meena took the opposite seat, putting her own teacup down and grabbing the milk. They were currently in a corner cafe, one that people typically walked past unless they knew of its existence. 

The owners of the cafe had converted part of it into a bakery, where the smell of fresh bread and coffee was constant. Meena took the paper bag that had been held in her mouth and put it down. Humming, she fished inside until she held a pastry, and ever polite, she offered it to Molly, who shook her head. Don't get her wrong the food here was delicious, but her stomach was getting upset over the smallest of things these days. She spooned sugar from its dish into her mug before giving it a stir. Afterwards, she moved it to the side and rose the coffee to her lips - returning to the window. Taking slow sips, the heat from the liquid warmed her.

Meena bit into her doughnut, getting confectionery sugar on her mouth as she tasted the strawberry jam middle. Savouring it for a moment, she noisily swallowed before saying, "I think I have an answer to your... problem." Molly blinked, brow furrowing. "Okay," Meena admitted, "it isn't really a solution, more something that might help you out."

Molly looked away from the view, saying inquisitively, "What is it?"

Her friend put her dessert onto the folded paper bag, wiping her hands on a napkin as she said, "Hear me out, this will sound crazy."

"Crazier than having a psycho ex-boyfriend haunting you?" A brief smile cracked onto her face. Meena rolled her eyes.

"Maybe not _that_ bad, but it's still definitely out there." Intrigued, Molly put her coffee on the table, leaning forward. "I know this _person..._ We don't really _know_ each other, but we have this mutual ac-" Meena cut herself off, waving away the need to explain her relationship with this person of interest, she tried again. "I heard about someone who has these abilities."  _Abilities?_ Sherlock came to mind, although he'd never say he was anything of the sort. He'd state that he was merely a rational man that saw logic where others didn't. 

"What abilities...?" 

Meena rose her teacup to her mouth, taking a drink so it'd delay saying it out loud. Her friend watched this with mounting concern and impatience, saying, "Meena... What can she _do?"_  

Finally, the nurse cleared her throat, and told her. "She can talk to the dead."

"You... you want me to talk to a psychic about Jim?" She shook her head in disbelief.

"Hey! Why not?! What's the worst that can happen...?" Molly opened her mouth to list a few, but was silenced by a ringtone. She rose a brow as Meena cursed, taking her cell phone out.

"They need you back at the hospital?" 

"If only." Meena grimaced, showing her the ID.  _Shadia_ , the one night stand.

"Poor you," Molly pushed her chair back. Meena frowned at her. 

"Where are you going?"

Molly shrugged, standing as she took her folded jacket from the back of her chair. "I'm going home, it's been a long day." Molly smiled at the pout she received. Taking her scarf from the inside of one of her sleeves, she wrapped it around her neck before donning the jacket. Doing her buttons up, she went around the table to kiss the top of Meena's head. "Thanks for the hot drink." Her friend loudly sighed, holding her hand.

"Be careful getting home." 

Molly smiled. "Yes, mum."

* * *

 

Sitting on one of the tube's seats with a sigh, Molly glanced at the blinking line map on the wall before staring out the window. Not like there was much to see, only darkness and the flash of light from an upcoming platform. If anything, she studied her reflection. She looked... Tired, really tired. Maybe she should look into using some of her vacation time, heaven knows she's saved some up. Absently, she listened to someone cough and a magazine page being flipped. Stifling a yawn into her sleeve, the image of the empty chair beside her flickered. When she blinked Jim was next to her, disgust present on his face. Her heart was pounding in her ears, but she didn't scream. She knew he was just a figment of her imagination, and perhaps if she didn't acknowledge him he would disappear.

Apparently Jim wasn't privy to her plan, taking in his surroundings, he loudly said, "Molly, dear. You must really _hate_ yourself!" He wildly gestured around them, twisting in his seat to look over his shoulder, "How else do you explain travelling like this?" Molly bit hard into her bottom lip, chanting internally to herself: _don't say anything, don't say anything, don't sa-_

"And that sound!" Jim glared, "He couldn't take a cough drop? Abs-" Molly stood up, stumbling to a set of doors as the tube stopped at a platform. Hastily exiting, Molly speedily walked as far away from the tube as she could. Leaving the underground station behind and emerging topside to a heavily raining street. It came down in thick and angry sheets, punishing London. Loudly she cursed, she'd gotten off at the wrong stop and had no idea where she was. Standing on the points of her feet, she tried to catch a glimpse of a street name.

"You know." Molly groaned. "That was very rude of you." Turning, she gave Jim a dirty glare, hoping he'd get the hint. His annoyed mood matched her's, upper lip pulling with a snarl. "I'd watch that attitude, mousy." Raising her eyes heavenwards at the threat, she walked (stomped) down to the end of the street, all too aware of her unwanted company following. Finding a sign she noted she was several blocks away from her flat, but she could at least grab a cab home.

"Molls..." A voice sung into her ear, "you aren't apologizing..." You couldn't miss the warning behind his tone, causing a feeling of invisible spiders crawling on Molly's skin. She shivered, but liked to believe it was from the cold rain. Hair plastered to her face, she stood by the edge of the sidewalk, trying to wave a taxi down. They all drove by. "You know I could help." Frustrated, Molly spun to face Jim, whom was of course unaffected by the weather. He stood there, dressed in a suit and very much not the man she knew from IT. Not the dorky bloke she missed when she saw adverts for movie romcoms, no this was someone else entirely. This person... Thing, was what Sherlock and John faced, not her. "Just do it."

"Do what?" She finally snapped, noticing the worried glances she got from people going down the streets. In their eyes, she could read the words: freak show.

"Apologize." Jim hissed back, taking a step closer and baring his teeth. "You left me all _alone_." Molly froze, not knowing if he meant the subway or ending their relationship. She was hesitant if she even wanted to find out. Softly, so the rain would cover the sound, she whispered, "I'm sorry." Jim stood there staring at her, expression relaxing marginally. Offhandedly, he gestured and car tires screeched behind them, he looked off to the side. When Molly turned back around a taxi was there, sighing with relief, she lifted her hand in thanks and hurried over.

Opening the car door, she slipped into the back seat. "Thanks for stopping."

Her driver grunted, eyes meeting her's in the rear-view mirror. "Address?"

Blushing, Molly rattled off her street, before sitting back. The driver turned the radio on, pop music and static forcing the awkward silence out of the car. Molly latched her seat belt on, buckling in as the cab began to merge into traffic once more. Heat to her side, she peered over to see Jim sitting beside her. His hand was on the leather, close enough that if Molly moved the littlest amount he'd touch her. Would she feel anything? Sensing her staring, Jim stopped burning a hole into the back of the driver's head, raising a brow at her attention. Embarrassed, Molly turned so she could see the landscape pass by. The driver turned the volume up a little louder.

* * *

 

Molly stood in her living room, joined to the wall by her skull themed landline phone. It had been bought on a whim, and now Molly couldn't imagine life without it, even if it was terribly outdated. Clutched it to her chest, she paced around her flat - well, as far as the cord would permit. Firmly pressing the receiver into her ear, Molly tried not to get upset at the ringing. Why wasn't Meena picking up? She cursed, skimming over the room in distress. After the taxi parked in front of her home, Jim was gone, and a part of Molly was saddened by that.

An orchestra played faintly, Molly paused to stare at the TV. Perhaps it was a testament to how Molly hated herself, but the 1931 Dracula was on the telly and she had let it run. The vampire had just transformed from a bat, entering a sleeping Mina's bedroom. Goosebumps rising on her flesh, Molly couldn't look away as the infamous creature of the night leaned down to bite her neck.

"Hello?"

Molly flinched, stammering at the voice in her ear. "H-hello, Meena?"

"Molly?" It came out clearer this time, "What's wrong, are you okay?"

She tore her eyes away from the screen, "Oh, y-yes. I'm... I thought about it, and I'll do it." There was a pause. "Are you still there?"

"Yes... But, love. It's turning midnight, why are you still up?" Molly strolled over to the window, moving the curtains an inch to peer outside. Even with the storm and darkness, Molly swore she could see a figure standing on the side of the road. She shuddered, violins were screaming as Dracula bit down. The tiny voice in her ear called out, "Molly?"

She dropped the curtains, stepping back, "Sorry, I'm here. I can't sleep, that's all."

"...I'm worried about you." Molly could hear her friend sigh, and her chest hurt at the thought of the hell she was putting the other woman through. "Do you need me to come over?"

"No, I'll be fine." She snatched the remote from the coffee table, pressing the off button. The sudden silence was far more unnerving, "I-I wanted to let you know I'll see her and-" She exhaled, and quickly said, "But I'll fill you in the morning, I'll let you get some sleep." Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she listened to her friend give an unconvinced hum. 

"In the morning?"

"In the morning." She promised, mumbling a goodbye before she hung up. Putting her phone back onto the end table, she stood alone in her living room. The darkness from her bedroom, stretched out, beckoning her. Wishing she had her own Van Helsing to chase the monsters away, she reluctantly went forward.


	6. Depth of Field

"Move your leg a tad, love."

"Here?" She slid it a little to the right, spreading her legs open, an invitation. Molly was lying on her bed, the sheets rumpled from earlier. At the foot of it, Jim knelt, holding his camera to his face. From around it, she could see a smirk stretch across, sudden flash emphasizing. Molly swallowed, wondering how she would look in the photo. When she glanced at the mirror above her dresser in the far corner, she could see a blurry reflection of herself.

Her hair was in a loose bun, escaping strands framing her face. A blush dusting her cheekbones and down to her narrow shoulders. She shivered, as equally from the coolness of the room and the exposure she felt. Heartbeat increasing, she lifted a hand from beside her and placed it on her bare stomach, feeling the rise and fall.

"Molls," a deep voice called out, drawing her in as her eyes shut. "I want to see you."

"You already can," she mumbled, forcing herself to peer underneath her lashes. Unwillingly, she was found herself admiring the other woman in the mirror, a person she didn't recognize asides for the timid demeanour. That other Molly was wearing the lingerie Jim had bought, a strapless dark grey lace bustier with floral design and matching sheer tanga panties. Nothing she'd be confident to buy for herself, but would long for. The fact her sweet Jim knew was... Molly wet her lips, the meaning behind it nothing other than relief. He didn't take it that way.

"No," Jim breathed, low sound having Molly looking at him suddenly. He placed the camera to the side, expression searing her until she was a puddle of her former self. "I want to see the hidden you," he got on the bed, "the one with nasty little _claws_." Molly sat up, resting on the headboard as Jim crawled up to her.

"I..." She didn't know what to say, what did he want her to- He kissed her hungrily, like a man dying of thirst. The passion behind it was unrecognizable, nothing in that kiss was sugary fumbling. No, this was heady. She then realized this was a version she hadn't seen before. A part of her was afraid of that, the difference in personality. How many times had the corpses on her morgue slab had been the result of murder, of people that neighbours had said were polite and completely _normal?_  No, Jim couldn't be like that, he... She lost all train of thought with her tongue being sucked on. Like he had said a magic spell, her legs parted.

When he pulled away Molly was gasping for oxygen. The corners of Jim's eyes crinkled with tenderness, at odds with the smile he wore. The dark red lipstick she was wearing was smeared on his lips, and coupled with the sharpness of his teeth, Jim was nothing short of _feral._  A thin, flexible material was pressing into her chest, confused, she looked down to see what was in Jim's hand. The photo. She took it, staring at the polaroid as Jim ducked his head to kiss the base of her throat and to run that wicked tongue of his along her collarbone. Shuddering at the sensation, she studied the appearance of herself.

She met her own eyes, lounging with a quiet intensity that Molly hadn't realized she possessed. Is this what Jim saw? The filtered light playing on her skin, transforming her into a painting. This... He had made her into art. Dramatic, and seductive art. With fire in her belly, she tossed the photo to the side, grabbed Jim's head and pulled him upwards. He gave a surprised groan, returning the kiss as he felt nails dig into his back. He moved away momentarily, lifting his navy sweater off and flinging it God knows where, before he returned to Molly with a neediness - like she was his lifeline.

Partially taken aback by her own courage, she lent a hand by unbuckling his belt. Inexperience playing a part in her blind grappling with the buttons, she took her lips away from Jim's to curse loudly. 

"It's all right," Jim chuckled, turning back into the nice guy from IT. He leaned on the back of his knees, hands taking off the belt and jeans with practised ease. She reasoned to herself it was because he was a guy, and not because he's had a lot more sex than her. She didn't have long to dwell on it, hissing when he bit down on her shoulder, pain having her brows knitting together.  

"Wait," she mumbled, absently having her hand descend his firm torso, fingers touching Jim's ribs. He lavishly swiped his tongue over the mark before he peered up, humming in annoyance at the interruption. "I want..." Molly swallowed, needing a second to clear her mind. "I need to... I need to be..." She broke off, bravery waning. _You're intelligent and sexy_ , she chanted to herself.  _You're intelligent and sexy_. "I want to be on top."

He stared at her blankly for a second, enough to have Molly on the verge of apologizing, telling him to forget about it. Promptly he kissed her, all delighted grin before he peeled himself off, laying on his back with a pillow underneath his head. He patted his thighs, "Why don't you take a seat? It's the best in the house." Molly snorted, smiling despite the cheesiness. 

"I'm sure," she giggled, taking in the erection straining against Jim's crown patterned boxers. Leaning to the side, she slipped a finger under the elastic band, letting it snap on his pale hipbones. Jim winced, although still smirking as he rose his hips up and tugged the garment down. Ever thoughtful, Molly politely assisted in yanking them past his knees and ankles, and let them join the rest of his clothing on the floor.

Struck with an idea, Molly retrieved the camera from the edge of the bed before finally sitting down on Jim's lap. Immediately she shuddered, grinding on his hardness. Warm hands on her hips, she bent forward, drawing Jim into an ardent kiss. She felt a hand run up from her lower back and along the bumps of her spinal column, fingernails barely scratching. Dosed in goosebumps, she shuddered, tearing her mouth away to rest her forehead against his. Hotly she blushed, knowing, from the plumes of his panting on her cheeks that he was watching her reaction. She forced herself to open her eyes, and she wasn't wrong. Meeting his hooded gaze, Molly leaned back up, trying to position the camera correctly as she put a hand on the square of his chest. He stopped running his nails on the skin of her spine, holding her hand to him instead, moving it to the side so she could feel the frantic beat of his heart. 

Sighing, she finally turned the camera around, forgetting its purpose when Jim lifted his head to kiss her fingertips. "Jim," she breathed. These were dangerous times. They hadn't done much besides dry hump each other, and already her panties were sopping wet. Taking her hand away from his grasp, she tried to slow the movement of her hips, sending him a look that turned out more frantic than anything. Chuckling, Jim took pity on her, covering his laughing with his arm.

"I don't think I'd mind," he huskily groaned, "being killed by you. I should probably..." He broke off at the flash, moving the limb to squint at her, "be calling you black widow instead of mouse." Molly shushed him, taking the photo that was spat out. Below, Jim began to rock again, while Molly sighed softly as the photo developed. Pleased with it, she passed it to Jim who took a brief glimpse before he surged forward, yanking Molly down and kissing her until she couldn't function.

"I thought," she said in between biting kisses, "you wanted me to have claws?"

"I don't care," Jim mumbled. "I just need to be inside you before I..." He moved his head to the side, breathing in sharply through his nose, " _kill something_." That wasn't her Jim, not in the least. Looking back from the present that should've had the warning bells ringing, but they didn't. In fact, Molly had found it sexy. God, she really does have a type... 

Whining, she lifted herself up, trying to slip her knickers off without lessening the contact. It was tricky, but Jim gave a hand in the task. Tossing it over her shoulder, Molly scrambled to the side of the bed, pulling her nightstand's drawer open to find a condom and a bottle of lube. They were placed next to her aunt's postcard and her scorpion paperweight. She passed the condom to Jim, who easily tore the foil and rolled it down his cock. The bottle's lid was popped open, and Molly squirted some of the clear liquid onto her fingers, covering Jim before she smeared it on herself. Patiently waiting for her, Jim rose a brow, nose scrunching as he said, "It's scented."

"And edible," she added, holding her sticky fingers out. Without thinking, Jim took them into his mouth, sucking on them - the feeling making Molly whimper. She slowly withdrew her hand, the sensation of Jim's tongue to haunt her for a long time.

Jim licked his lips. "Strawberries." Mutely she nodded, knowing her voice would crack if she attempted to speak. She favoured to rather straddle him, resting on her kneecaps so she had enough room to grab a hold of Jim and position him properly. Sucking in a breath, she sunk down until he was buried to the hilt, putting her hands on either side of his head. It'd been too long, she'd missed this. Humming in delight, the man below her rose a hand to her head, gingerly taking the scrunchie out and letting her hair fall down. Molly shivered at the locks brushing her skin, rolling her hips experimentally. They both moaned.

Gaining confidence with her every movement, she settled on a bouncing pace, screwing her eyes closed in pleasure. A hand landed on her stomach, moving along the flexing muscles and up to her still clothed breasts, alternatively squeezing the swells of both through the lace fabric. Her mouth opened, burning with embarrassment at the noises she was making. Never had she ever felt so crazy with any of the other blokes who joined her in bed, they didn't make her feel like her control was slipping through her hands. Sand that was- her eyes shot open, biting her bottom lip to keep from crying out. Jim watched in glee, teeth glinting. None of the others, even _knew_ where the clit was, much less touched her's. And yet, here was Jim, laying back in satisfaction as Molly's thighs twitched and her voice rose in pitch and volume. 

She swore loudly, nails accidentally clawing Jim's chest as she struggled to hold onto something, leaving behind angry red lines. He hissed, eyes narrowing into slits as he thrust up into her harder. Sweat glistening on his forehead and appearing wild, he ground out, " _Molly_." And like a switch being flipped, Molly came with a loud shout, turning into a spasming mess of goo.

* * *

 

Molly awoke realizing two things. One, her bed was empty besides her own lonely self. And two, she came from dream Jim. To be fair, she _was_ reliving an intense memory she had, but it was a bit disheartening that Jim still held the record of coaxing the most orgasms out of her than any other man. She grabbed her pillow, sticking her head into it and screamed until her lungs and throat protested. Toby landed on the bed, meowing with concern as he tiptoed over to her. Sandpaper tongue on her shoulder, she lifted her hand to give him a pet, thankful for the comforting purrs emitting from her companion. 

She stayed a moment longer, wallowing in pity before she decided to get up - she had to meet Meena after all. Feeling self conscious of her cat's stare and the possibility of an invisible ghost lurking in a corner, Molly hurried to the shower. Taking her pajamas off and turning the knobs. As the water warmed up, Molly shivered, glancing to the fogging glass of the mirror before she jumped in the tub.

Twenty minutes later she was freshly showered and dressed, hair wrapped in a towel as she scurried around her flat, filling Toby's food and water bowl before she turned the kettle on. Placing it on the heating element, Molly strolled over to the couch, turning the TV on as she took the towel off and patted her hair dry with it. Absently, she flipped through the channels, studying the fragments of shows before she landed on the news.

A pretty reporter was talking on location, in the background there was an area fenced off by police caution tape, and officers blocking the view and anyone from trying to enter. Frowning, Molly pressed the volume button.

"This morning at 12:35 AM, a body of a man was discovered in an abandoned car. From witness statements, there is a suspicion of foul play an-" The journalist broke off, eyes widening as something caught her attention. Molly leaned forward, in shock as she recognized the tall form that was allowed to duck under the tape. She'd know those curls anywhere, it was Sherlock. "Sir!" The woman called out, seemingly aware of who it was. "Can you tell us anything about the man they found?"

Seconds later, a smaller man joined the scene(obviously John). He ignored the woman, but questioningly stopped when Sherlock came to a halt. Molly repeatedly hit the volume button. His back still to the camera, Sherlock called out in annoyance, "He's dead." There was a pause, the obviousness of the statement hanging above everyone's heads, a moment in which Sherlock walked off - no doubt, to inspect the body. Molly sighed, if she didn't call in today she'd be stuck at the morgue, doing that corpse's autopsy. Usually she didn't mind, but with this Jim nonsense going on... The kettle whistled; she pressed the off button.

 

She didn't know what to expect when she went with Meena to see the psychic, only the usual - crystal balls, tarot cards, and bejeweled robes. They were in a small house, the decorations spoke of an elderly woman that lived alone. There was a flowery aroma to the air, with several potted plants near the large windows. The two women were seated in a tiny parlour room, waiting for the other visitors to finish with their readings.

"Did you hear what happened?" Molly looked away from the frame on the wall, inside it was a black and white photo of a woman standing in front of a fighter plane.

"What?" She whispered, not wanting to disturb the others.

"They found a body this morning."

"Oh yeah," Molly looked back to the photo, "I heard."

Meena sighed in dismay, "What is this city coming to? From what I heard from Sarah, his throat was slit in the taxi."

Molly snapped her head to the side, "They found him in a taxi?" Meena nodded. That gave Molly something to think about, her brows furrowing. It couldn't possibly...?

Voices travelled down the hallway, and a middle-aged couple was escorted past them to the front. Behind them being an old woman dressed in a white blouse, pastel jumper, and beige trousers. "I'll see you next week, thanks for coming." They exchanged goodbyes, and she closed the door, turning to her other guests with a smile. "Now, which one is which?"

Meena stood up, shaking the woman's hand. "Hello, I'm Meena - we spoke on the phone, and this is my friend, Molly." 

Molly got up, holding her own hand out, "Hi, it's very nice to meet you...?"

"Mrs. Freya Knight." The senior laughed, accepting the handshake before she gestured them to the hallway. "Why don't we get started?"

* * *

 

They were taken to a study, where grand bookshelves covered the walls, and a desk was set in the corner. Mrs. Knight sat behind it, gesturing her company to take the seats before her. As Molly settled in, she noticed the Bachelor's degree in psychology hanging on the wall. Mrs. Knight noticed the stare, saying, "I guess you can say, I've always been helping others."

"Do you still do any work as a therapist?" 

She shrugged, "I'm retired now, but I offer advice if people need it." Meena hummed, pleased as she sat back. "Now," Mrs. Knight knitted her hands together, "let's get to why you're both here?" There was a lapse in conversation, in which Molly sought out the best words to describe her situation. She started to bounce her knee, feeling her friend's gaze on her.

"I've been seeing someone..." Mrs. Knight nodded encouragingly. "Someone from my past."

"And is that not a good thing?" That bouncing increased.

"No, not with this man - he's not very nice. Well, when we were dating he was with _me_ , just not others." Molly took in a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

"I see... But if he's so disagreeable, then why are you seeing each other?"

"Um..." Molly chewed on her bottom lip, "I don't have any control with that, he keeps showing up."

"Did you talk to the police?"

"I..."  The heat from Meena's gaze burned her, to the point where she finally blurted out, "I see dead people!"

Mrs. Knight's mouth opened in a quiet, "Ah."

"I usually don't," Molly awkwardly added, "just this one."

"And was this a recent passing?" Molly thought back to Jim being wheeled into her morgue, she hadn't actually performed the autopsy - the board thought it'd be too inappropriate.

"Yes," she whispered, mouth dry like cotton.

"Have you seen spirits before, or is this a first?" She took a glance at Molly's face before nodding softly, "A first then. Now, has he said anything of importance? A clue as to why he's still here?"

"No... He..." Molly inhaled sharply, sudden remembering Jim's words on the street. "He said... He wanted me to apologize for leaving him alone." 

Mrs. Knight hummed, unlatching her hands to drum her fingers on the desk. "If you are comfortable with it, I'd like to hold your hands and draw him out. Would you be fine with this?" Molly nodded, wiping her sweating hands on her knees before she offered them. She couldn't help but notice the other's were soft, rubbing her thumb on Molly's knuckle as she mumbled a prayer under her breath. The hair on the back of Molly's neck stood up, fearful that if she looked over her shoulder Jim would be there, smirking as he leaned on the door frame. "What's his name?"

"Jim." Meena answered, sparing a look at Molly's pale face. 

"Jim," the woman whispered, "please step forward." There was a pause, and everyone held their breaths. Mrs. Knight's brow furrowed, and she lifted her head, squinting. "Odd, I'm not getting anything." She let go of Molly's hands, "Usually when people first come in I see them lurking, but this Jim..." She shook her head. "I can't see him, not even his energy. Are you...?" She looked closely at Molly, who immediately could read the message in the psychic's eyes: freak show. Even this woman thought Molly was losing it. Sucking in her breath, she stood up quickly.

"T-thanks for your time, I... I have to go."

"I'm sure-" Mrs. Knight started, but Molly wasn't having any of it. Ignoring her friend's sputtering, she made her quick exit. This has been a mistake from the beginning, she should have never come here. Door to the house closing behind her, she jogged down the stone steps and onto the street, hearing, "Molly!" There was the sound of someone hurrying after her, and a hand tightly gripped her wrist. Forcibly she was spun around, meeting her friend's worried searching gaze. Molly opened her mouth, but closed it. 

"Molly," Meena brushed her fingers along her cheekbones, "I don't think you're crazy, so please... Relax." She pulled her into a hug, rubbing soothing circles on her friend's back. Molly sniffled, she felt like she was falling and there was nothing to hold onto.

* * *

 

"Are you sure you don't want me to come in?" They were standing on Molly's welcome mat, and Meena looked to be a second from refusing no as an answer. 

"Yes," Molly mumbled, "I just feel tired. Today took a lot out of me, you know?" Meena started to tap her foot. "I'll just be taking a nap, not really much you can do."

"I can keep you company, in case you need to talk."

Molly rolled her eyes, "We can do that over the phone." Her friend didn't look convinced, she was getting that hard expression - the one when she was dealing with a stubborn patient. "I'm all right." Molly grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze. "Really."

Reluctantly, Meena said, "Okay... But call me straight away after you wake up." Molly nodded, and the two parted ways.

 

When Molly finally entered her flat, she was hit with a sense of foreboding, that something wasn't right. She wanted to walk out, call Meena back, but for whatever reason she didn't. Instead, she cautiously slipped out of her shoes, and padded over to the windows to fling the curtains open. Like the sudden light would get rid of the unease, but it doesn't. Wetting her lips, she walked around, finding Toby in a clean laundry bin - asleep, as if nothing is wrong. 

Sighing partially from the cat hair on her clothes and the atmosphere, she shook it off and started to head into her kitchen. However, this journey takes her through the living room. And most days that isn't a problem, but on this specific one, she comes to a halt.

Ever so warily, Molly turned around to look at the box on the coffee table. It wasn't there before. With an anxious swallow, she fought the increasing panic, and went over to it. Temporarily suspended in the belief that something horrid was underneath, she gingerly lifted the lid. Heart racing, she leaned forward and peered inside... And... It was still the same old photos. It was at that moment, considerably calmer while she was contemplating the box's journey from her closet, she felt warm air blowing on the back of her neck.

"Hullo, love."

Scream caught in her throat, Molly spun around.

Jim stood before her, dressed in a dark charcoal suit jacket and trousers, with a black and white diamond print sweater. Hair slicked back, and smelling of an alluring expensive cologne, he looked... Frustratingly good. _Delicious_ even _._ Molly makes a decision then, to fight this insanity. She took one last look at Jim, pretending that she's indifferent to the sudden ghostly visit, before she stalks past him, and heads into the bathroom. Foolishly thinking, that if she can splash cold water on her face, maybe he'd go away.

 _Not like that's worked before._  Molly scoffed at her inner self. Behind her, she hears his shiny shoes walking on the floorboards, lazily trailing after her. Reaching the bathroom, she's half tempted to lock the door, but doesn't, wanting to prove a point to herself and the ghost that she isn't afraid.

Flipping the light switch on, she turned the sink onto the coldest it'll go. Bending over it, she scooped some of the icy water and splashed it on her face. When she shivers, it's not from the temperature, but because there's an arm on either side of her, caging her to the sink. Dripping water everywhere, she lifted her head to stare at the face looking over her shoulder, blindly turning the knob off. He's smirking now, brow raised inquisitively as he heavily leans into her. 

That's when Molly's treacherous heart skips a beat, because she comes to the gripping conclusion that his body is tangible - and she's dizzy with the knowledge. That this is reality, and he's here with her. Gasping, she fights to remain calm, to not faint. But there's a nose lightly brushing the side of her neck, and with a flinch, she realizes that he's breathing her in, taking in the scent with an appreciative hum. 

"You're not real," she forced out, even if she knows it's a lie. Jim opened his eyes, phantom of her past that adds a little more pressure behind his leaning.

"Is that so?" He chuckles at the idea of that, lifting a hand from the porcelain to place it on Molly's waist, fingers skating along the fabric to an inch below her breasts. "That's strange," he mockingly pouts, "but I'm glad you've told me sooner than later." Molly wants to be angry, to shout something! But when Jim presses a kiss into the nape of her neck, her legs go weak. 


	7. Small Aperture

"You're dead," she said, more to herself than actually to him. He took this surprisingly well, merely gave her another smirk - like she's the most amusing thing in the world.

"Dearest, are you okay?" He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against himself. "You keep repeating yourself." In a mocking gesture of worry, he placed the back of his palm on her forehead, testing the temperature. Shivering, she swats it away, shoving out of his embrace. It's startling how easy the action is, then, she realizes that he _let_ _her_ get away. 

Back now to the mirror, she squints, willing something to make sense. "You're dead," she says one more time, stressing the words until she shakes. Jim's smirk slowly transforms into a scowl, and he casually walks into her space. He grabs her head between his warm very much alive hands, and bends down so he can stare deeply into her eyes. Molly can't help but peer upwards, mystified as she studies him. How the sunlight coming in through her pale yellow curtains, makes gold lines streak across his face. And to her own bafflement and mounting chagrin, she noted how it breathed such  _life_   into his dark eyes.

He exhaled gently through his nose, gaze dropping to Molly's lips, mulling something over. There's a delay, a heart wrenching moment in which his nose is lightly brushing her's, but then he pulls away. Taking a step back in Molly's tiny bathroom to stick his hands into his pockets, frowning as he looks to the side. Molly, with her balled fists held to her chest, watches helplessly as he walks out and into the hallway. And there it is, the fear that she's crazy. The thought of such is far more scarier to her than James Moriarty, and quite stupidly she sprints out of the room, going after him like she'd discover the consulting criminal warping through a wall.

Of course, he isn't. He's rummaging through her kitchen drawers. And a part of Molly is annoyed by that, the lack of polite behaviour, that he didn't _ask_. Standing in the doorway, she mutely watches.

Annoyed for an unknown reason, Jim closes a drawer harshly. "Where do you keep your corkscrew?"

Breathing in, Molly walks over to a set of cupboards, pulling the drawer below it open. Picking the corkscrew up, she holds it in her hand for a second before stretching her arm out. Their fingers brush against one another as he takes it, sending her nerves ablaze with tingling. Unaffected, Jim pockets it, resting his hand on the counter. The tension thickens, silence enough to choke Molly.

"Would you..." Molly glances to the side. "Would you like a cup of tea?" She distractedly tugs on the chain to her necklace, having pulled it up from her shirt without knowing. Not Jim, he takes it all in with a slight smile.

"You have a murderer in your home, and you ask him what he would like to drink?" Molly flinches. "I could say I'm curious," Jim crosses the distance between them, "as to why you haven't _screamed_   yet, but that would be a lie." His gaze licks up her body, and Molly nearly erupts into flames in response. "You _want me_ here. To dissect me like one of your corpses, and find out if I'm truly missing my heart." He leans forward, showing off the white of his teeth. "Do you have any coffee?"

* * *

 

Half an hour later, there's the potent scent of fresh coffee in the air, and a criminal mastermind sitting on her couch. And Molly is seated across from him in her Granddad's chair, gripping her own cup tightly as Jim emptied the shoe box's contents onto the table, picking up each polaroid with an impish grin. Nestled beside him is Toby, the traitor that he is, is purring loudly with his paws stretched out. Ever so often, Jim runs his fingers through Toby's fur, and the thunder of it increases. 

"I adore this one." Jim lifts it up so she can see that it's her sleeping in bed, naked apart from her granny underwear. He flicks it towards her, letting it sail through the air to settle in front of her feet. Molly can't help but blush, raising her eyes to see Jim take a sip of his drink and pet Toby again.

"Why are you here?"

He doesn't look at her when he says, "Would you believe me if I said I was lonely?"

Molly snorts, even in this nightmarish situation. "No."

Instead of looking angry, Jim shoots her a pleased grin, saying, "I figure you wouldn't." He downs the rest of his drink, placing it on the table. Molly fights not to leap up and put a coaster underneath. Jim lifts a brow, daring her - she stays seated. Rolling his eyes, he mumbles out, "I was supposed to be in my grave, but it started to get boring." 

"You're here... Because you were _bored?"_   Molly stares blankly at him, "Then why are you _here?_ Not terrorizing London a-and..." _And Sherlock?_ She didn't need to voice that last part, Jim wasn't stupid, he knew what she really meant.

"Would you rather I did that? Kill him and be done with it?"

Molly choked on a desperate "No!" Sitting up rod straight, like he'd suddenly make a move for the door and Molly would have to tackle him. Which was a ridiculous idea, but don't be too hard on her, she wasn't in the best state at the moment.

"You know," Jim started, closing his eyes at a memory. "I was just watching some video feed, like any other day. When you're supposed to be dead, you do stuff like that - anyway, I was checking up on the staff of our wonderful St. Barts, and I saw something strange." Molly shivered, locked into place as Jim's eyes popped open. "Do you know what that was?"

She shakes her head, not wanting to think of the answer. Jim laughs, "I saw my darling mouse, moaning _my name_ in her office of all things!" He gives her a wink, Molly then thankful she was sitting down, if not her legs would've buckled. "Not very professional, Dr. Hooper."

"I..." 

"Loved the bit with Sherlock coming in, I'm sure it was too much for the poor virgin to handle." His grin is all sharp teeth, "You all _messy_." Molly covers herself with her cardigan, overcome with the layers of clothing he was burning through. Jim stands up, walking around the table to stand before her. Petrified, she blinks owlishly up at him, in a stupor as he takes her mug and gently places it on the table. He puts a hand on either armrest, bending down so they're closer to eye level. Molly can smell his cologne again, and she hates how disoriented she is by it. "And there I am," he whispers, drawing Molly in, "thinking of all the time we spent together." His hands slide on the leather, becoming closer to her bent elbows. "And really, Molly. It wasn't all bad, was it?"

Breathing has become difficult for her, and without realizing it, she shakes her head. He smiles at her honesty, wetting his lips before he starts again, "I thought about you, more than I ought to - probably more than someone like me ever should, but I am rather greedy." The corner of his lip curls up, "I think that's why we go so well together, you're a little like that too, hoarding things." Molly leans heavily into her chair. "I went over this tape of you in the street," her blood runs cold, "and that's when I knew we had to have this little reunion."

"Y-you saw that?" He flashes her a wicked look.  _Yes._ Molly's eyes widen as something dawns on her, "D-does that mean you killed that man?"

"You'll have to be more specific, love. I've killed a lot of men, most deserved it... One way or another."

"The taxi driver?"

Jim stands up, shrugging. "He drove me to your place afterwards. Was he rude to you as well? I have little patience for bad manners."

"You..." Molly shuddered. Jim had been at her home. 

"Personally, I thought it was romantic, standing in the rain." Jim sighed, disappointed, like his grand gesture had gone unnoticed. "No need to get worked up, Molls. I'm not cross with you."

With one long, deep breath, she said it. "W-why?"

Jim's brows furrowed, "Why wasn't I mad? Why am I alive? Why do people still believe the moon landing was faked? Should I go on, or are you going to pick one?" 

"You must be..." Molly swallowed. "You must be here for a reason?" She flinched, two arms caging her in again.

"Molly," he said in a hushed tone, eyes glinting as he hissed, "I'm _here,_ because I want to take you out for dinner."

 


	8. Wide Aperture

"You want to have dinner with me...?" She eventually says, the words are strange like she's only now heard of them. "With _me?"_ She repeats one more time.

"Isn't that what people do?" The look Jim is giving her is a cross of being greatly annoyed and wanting to rip her pants off. Out of habit, Molly wets her lips, an action to which Jim notes with relish. Never before, has she felt more as the mouse in a game with a much bigger cat than now. "When they want to make up?"

"Make up?" Molly dumbly mutters, mostly because she can't think of anything else to say. Jim is still leaning over her, and his cologne is making her high. _Can you get high from a person's scent?_   Noisily, Molly gulps down, and figures yes... Yes, you _can_.

As good-natured as he can be, Jim rolls his eyes. "We used to date, Molls. Before you broke up with me." A hint of a smirk is on his face, teeth appearing very sharp. The threat of it reminds Molly that easily he could tear through her jugular. Sensing her thoughts, his smirk deepens, and Molly squirms in her seat. It's upsetting how sexy he is, even on the verge of killing her. Ah, the psychologists would have a field day with her! She'd be roped in with the rest of the Hannibal Lecter fangirls. "Not smart that," Jim's nails scraps on the fabric of the chair, "dumping me."

"Are you," Molly breaths in, "going to kill me?"

Jim blinks, raising a brow. "Maybe. Not now, we do have reservations."

"When then?" She whispers, heart caught in her throat. God, let her death be quick and painless.

Jim shrugged, standing up as he offhandedly cracked his neck. Molly winced at the sound. "Not sure, dearest. But don't worry, when you do die..." Jim paused, the look in his eyes becoming distant, as if he could already see it before him. "It'll certainly be a _sweet death_." He clasped his hands together in a clap, sharp sound making his pathologist flinch. "We've wasted enough time, dinner is calling." Grabbing her wrists, he pulls her up, patiently waiting for Molly to get her balance on such unsteady legs. He lingers there, thumb brushing above her rapid pulse. 

Nervous, she glances up, unclear where to look. With a start, she realizes he's staring at her, his expression confusing.

"Should I..." She mumbles, shivering absently at his nearness, "get dressed?" A part of her is already making plans to climb out of the bathroom window.

"Hm?" Jim blinks back into focus. "No, this will do." Molly furrows her brow, glancing down at herself. Yes, she was already dressed for going out, but only for seeing Meena. It was different than going on a... On a _date_. This is what was happening, wasn't it? She was going on a date with a criminal mastermind, one she may die on.

And these clothes may be her last... A pale yellow cardigan with lemons on it, a white blouse and jeans. Cute, but not what she wanted to be found in some ditch in. " _Really?"_   It was far more surprising considering what Jim wore, she figured that this version was into things of an expensive calibre. Not a spinster cat lady that was obsessed with death.

"It depends," Jim drew out in a provocative voice, "what's under, love." The corners of his eyes crinkled at the choking sound Molly made, reluctantly he dropped his grip on her wrists, favouring to hold onto one of her hands. Just as gentle as Jim from IT had been, Moriarty led her from her home and outside. She opened her mouth when she stepped onto the welcoming mat, "Wait I..." Jim paused. "I need to lock the door or..."

Jim snorted, "Molls, trust me. No one would _dare_ to rob you." Molly flushed, pressing her fingernails into the palm of her hand. Right, being forced into a date with one of the deadliest men in the world  ~~in history?~~ had it's apparent perks. Consoled, she was led down the stone steps and to where a black Lamborghini was parked out front. She stood there for a second, floundering. This vehicle cost far more than her annual earnings, and he expected her to get _inside?_   Her disbelief increased when he opened the passenger door, and instead of how normal ~~cheap~~ cars worked, it went upwards into the air.

"Molls!" Jim called out, staring at her in plain amusement, "get in." She could do little but listen, dumbly crossing the yard and stiffly climbing inside. Her bottom had barely settled in the leather of the seat, and already Jim was hunching down, invading her personal space to unnecessarily buckle her in. The act of chivalry was astonishing and only partially unwanted. Click informing them both that she was now secure, Jim looked upwards, face close in the tightness of the car's interior. She could smell the mint from his gum, scent warmed by his breath. 

For a second she thought he'd kiss her, nastily enough craved it. But when they made eye contact, Jim took only one sparing peer at her lips before he pulled away. The door closed, and Molly tried not to feel crushed by a wave of rejection. 

When he opened his side of the car, and climbed into the driver's seat, he was smirking. He took the time to buckle his own belt, pressing the ignition button with a hum. As the car roared to life, Jim asked, "Do you mind some music?" He paused for half a second, pretending Molly had agreed before he thumbed through his phone, attached to the console with a cord. Picking a song, he pressed play, leaning forward to turn the volume up. Satisfied with the selection, he plucked a pair of sunglasses from the dash and slipped them on before he began to drive.

Molly made a low sound in the back of her throat, blinking as she recognized the voices singing. It was the _Glee's_ cast rendition of _Creep_. Joining in Rachel and Brody's passionate singing in a pitch higher than Molly has ever heard, Jim sang along as they drove down the road. Molly's fingernails buried into the armrests, as much as from Jim's reckless driving as the realization that they never watched up to the fourth season together. Meaning in between his rise from death, or sometime before, he'd continued to watch the show by himself. That the man that was supposed to be evil enjoyed listening to young adults do covers of famous songs and perform on stage.

She remained mute the rest of the car ride, not like it would have mattered much, Jim was far too busy singing to hear any attempts at a conversation. Rain drizzling, Molly watched as the landscape of the city passed by. From the mirror, she could see the same unmarked cars following them, acting as a barrier. 

* * *

 

They pulled up to the back of a large white building, the entrance to which was blocked off by an imposing but elegant metal spiked fence. Car parked, Molly followed Jim's lead and clambered out, glancing around uneasily. How could he be in the open like this, so easily? Subconsciously, she kept close to him, trailing after as a man in a crisp black buttoned down shirt and matching trousers, held the gate open. Jim strolled past, like the man was invisible. Frowning, Molly mumbled out, "Thank you" as she walked past. The man in black blinked in surprise, lowering his gaze when their eyes met.

Trying to keep up with Jim's pace, they entered the building, stepping into warmth and the sound of light jazz playing. As they wandered down the hallway, people greeting them politely, an obvious senior to the staff took them to a spacious room in one of the upper levels. What possible customers they had were carefully directed out of their way, and so the space in which they stepped into was empty.

The room was dim, even with the large panes of glass along the walls, and the adorning light fixtures. Soft green painted on the intricately etched walls, the table they sat down at was small and rounded, and covered in a cream cloth. A nameless person appearing out of nowhere tucked her in, disappearing before Molly could thank them. Confused, Molly peered at Jim, who had slipped his sunglasses off, folding and then placing them inside his jacket. He looked uninterested in everything, already lazily flipping through a menu that was handed to him.

Sighing, Molly adjusted herself, at least the chair was comfortable. Cushioned and in a dark red that matched the heavy curtains, it cradled her spine better than her mattress back home did. Sad, but it was the truth.

Speaking of the truth... Molly scrunched her nose, pondering the best way to get it out of a man like Jim - lover of musicals, fine suits, and more than a tad murder inclined.

"J-" She immediately stopped, wondering if it was safe to say his name aloud. What if a microphone for some civil spy agency caught it, would that make her automatically an accomplice? What would she say to Sherlock, to Meena? What would happen to _Toby_   if she was jailed? She got a bit choked up at the thought of the moody cat abandoned, or adopted by a new owner who didn't know what brands he liked.

Not privy to Molly's inner debate about her cat's future wellness, Jim glanced up, expression utterly bored. "Yes?' He stressed the word, hissing it as well as any snake might have. "Red or white?"

"I'm not..." Molly's brow furrowed, and she settled with an eloquent, "What?"

Jim rolled his eyes, "The wine, dearest." Molly looked down, blinking at the French and Italian. Whenever she bought a bottle - which was rarely, it was always a fruity number from the grocery. She had no clue what region the grapes were grown in meant, or what undertones were good or bad. She was completely out of her element, and Jim knew it.  Skimming over the row of text, she chose the one that would be easiest to pronounce.

"Er- the Sassicaia sounds good?" She smiled, hopefully it was convincing. Jim gave an offhanded nod, and a waiter scurried to fetch a bottle. 

"Perfect." Jim held out his menu, a member of staff taking his and grabbing Molly's from the table.

"Wait," she turned in her chair, "I haven't ordered yet!" She looked back to Jim, his head resting on the palm of his hand.

"It's all right, love. I picked for you." Molly squinted, it was unbelievable what an opposite this man was from Jim from IT... _Her_ Jim. "Now we have more time to chat." He flashed her a smile, taking in her flustered state. A waiter ducked in to fill Jim's glass, after which he moved in to pour a generous helping into Molly's. For once she didn't thank the staff, she was too busy being absorbed into Jim's dark eyes. She wanted to ask why she was here, but figured that question was becoming tired. Instead, she asked, "Have you read any good books lately?"

It shocked Molly, the laughter that erupted from the man across from her. Loud bursts that were on the verge of being maniacal. Ever so gradually the cackles eased up, and Jim around a few stray giggles said, "Y-you never fail to surprise me, Molly Hooper."

Without lifting up a hand, she could feel her face burning hotly. Even if the question was strange, she still considered it a good one. Far better than if she asked what his favourite colour was.

"I read..." Jim mulled it over. " _Tristram Shandy_ recently in one sitting, have you heard of it?"

"Isn't it a narration of a character's life, the one where it takes up to the third volume to explain his birth?"

Jim grinned. "That's the one."

"And you read that all at once?"

He shrugged absently. "It was in between torturing this idiot." Molly choked. "He had this fear of tight spaces, so we buried him alive. The hours gave me enough time to finish it, and let me tell you, I was more than happy to add it to my 'read' Goodreads list."

"S-should you be telling me this?"

Jim reached for his glass, casually sipping the wine. "Why wouldn't I tell you about Goodreads? It's a useful site. I thought a book reader such as yourself would've discovered it by now."

"Not the..." Molly breathed in. "This man you..." She looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was listening in, then whispered, "Buried."

"Why?" Jim sniffed. "There isn't much anyone can do for him anymore, asides the maggots." It was then that their food was placed before them. Two plates with porterhouse steaks, grilled vegetables and bearnaise sauce. As heavenly as this all smelt and looked, Molly's appetite had vanished. All she could think of was some poor man, screaming for help while Jim sat back, reading.

"Well?" She looked up, Jim was staring at her with his fork and knife in hand, " _Dig in_."

 


	9. Hot Shoe

Eyes squeezed shut as she yawned, Molly stood alone in the St Barts' canteen. The coffee maker hissed as it brewed, spitting dark, pungent liquid into the pot. A surgeon drank the last of it, without making any more... The bugger he was. Everyone knew Molly needed at least two cups in her before she could be fully awake for her morning shift, a fact that is increased if you think about the day she had. Leaning on the counter and trying to keep her eyes open, Molly thought of yesterday with a sigh.

 

Molly hastily excused herself, pushing her chair back from the restaurant table. Without thinking, she left the room, wandering the hall in search of a bathroom. However, she quickly nips that in the bud. She can't find it instantly, and doesn't think she'll be able to talk to some of the staff without vomiting, so she changes the plan, and scurries outside as soon as she can. There's a chill to the air from the spitting rain, it's one of the factors that has Molly shivering. No trash bin in sight in the fenced off yard, she picked a corner to the side, and hunched over to take in mouthfuls of air. The lack of presence of Jim does wonders for her, and gradually that lump of bile is forced back down.

"Ma'am, are you all right?" It's the waiter from before, face that of genuine concern. Offhandedly, she notices that he's handsome, but also that he's very much younger than her. He probably spends most of his time with his head in the clouds, dreaming of a grandiose career that would take him far away from here - how during an interview for inside the actors, he'd recall fondly his humble beginnings, and during one work shift, he helped a customer having a nervous breakdown. 

"I'm fine," she says with effort. They both know it isn't true, and a quiet builds because of it. He glances back to the building, "Do you want me to get your date?"

Molly grits out, "No." She doesn't want to know how Jim will react to seeing her like this. A part of her misses the facade, how the fake version would have been here, comforting her in a mixture of care and awkwardness. She doesn't need to voice this, the waiter seemingly get's it. He spares her a look before he heads back inside. Immediately, she exhales in relief, squinting against the rain as she looks to the sky.

Clouded over and a light grey, it suits Molly's mood. Gaze brought down again, she stares beyond the fence to the people walking down the sidewalk. There's a couple holding an umbrella over themselves, pressed into each other. The simplicity behind it has Molly's chest aching, wishing for once she could be happy, to live a normal life.

"Ma'am?" From the corner of her eye, she can see an object being held out.

"Thanks," she mumbles, blaming the strangled nature of her tone on the nausea. She takes the water bottle from this still nameless man, and opens the lid with ease. With a small smile she realizes it's because he'd already opened it for her. The cool liquid of the water soothes as it goes down her throat, getting rid of the taste of sickness and settling her belly. She's thirstier than she thought she was, and downs nearly the entire thing until only an inch is left. When she surfaces, she says, "Thank you" properly this time. 

"You're welcome." He replies softly, smiling politely back at her. They stand there in the yard, an odd repose between them. Molly doesn't want to wreck this feeling, but she needs to ask.

"What's your name?"

"Michael. What's yours?"

She contemplates it for a second, whether she should lie, but quickly, she forgoes that and tells him the truth. "Molly."

A smile stretches across Michael's face. "It's nice meeting you, Molly." They briefly shake hands; she tries not to dwell on the realization how nice his warm hand feels on her chilled skin.

In order to distract herself, she forces out an inquiry, "How long have you worked here?" She fumbles with the water bottle, holding it to her chest. "I hope that isn't..."

He waves the thought away. "I don't mind. It's been two years since I started."

"Oh." The peaceful hush emerges for a second time. Clearing her throat, Molly attempts to nudge the stilted conversation along. "Do you enjoy working here?"

Michael mulled it over, staring at his formal and tight shoes. "Sometimes. The pay is decent, but what really makes it tolerable is when you have a nice customer." He smiles with that last part, making Molly blush with the implication. "But enough about me, what's your job?"

"I... I work at St. Barts." Molly's face feels hotter with the impressed look Michael is giving her.

"You're a doctor then?"

She shifts her weight, opening her mouth to say the damper to their conversation.

"Her patients are corpses." They both spin around, alarmed for different reasons. Jim is there, standing with a quiet intensity that has Molly gasping. He takes in Michael, taking him apart with his eyes, seeing what makes him tick.

When he finally moves onto Molly, it's a calculated lazy. She knows with a wince that Jim from IT is fully gone now, this is Moriarty. "You were gone for so long, dearest, I was worried you got hurt." He's burning a hole into her, not satisfied until her heart is ash before he goes back to Michael. "I see you were only distracted..." The waiter gulps. "If we're all done here, I'll take you back home." She can do little but nod, following after Jim on wobbly legs.

The car ride is mostly silent, it's filled with an energy that has Molly sinking further and further into her seat. Jim has his sunglasses on again, so she can't see his eyes, not like she'd want to. His body is rigid, muscles in his jaw tight. The only thing that really tells how pissed off he is besides that, is the controlled driving - an opposite to earlier, and the music. No Glee soundtrack, Billie Holiday's _Strange Fruit_ was playing instead. It was Molly's first time hearing it, and while if she listened to it on her own time she would have appreciated the tragedy behind it and Billie's crooning, it was hard to enjoy in her current setting. The sunset was seeping into the car, painting Jim's profile in fiery colours.

 _"...Pastoral scene of the gallant south_  
_The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth_  
_Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh_  
_Then the sudden smell of burning flesh..."_

 

They parked out by her flat, and Molly couldn't get her seat belt off fast enough. She fumbled with the door and getting it open, and when it did slide upwards, she flinched - she had forgotten it did that. Ducking under, Molly scurried from the vehicle, in her haste, not bothering to close it. "Thanks for dinner," she mumbled offhandedly, needing nothing more than to lock herself in her bedroom and to curl up into a ball. Jogging up the stairs, she pulled open the door, remembering that she hadn't locked it. She was half-way in, nearly free when a hand grabbed the frame, preventing her from closing it.

Like a deer in headlights, Molly froze. Through the gap, Jim was glaring at her, knuckles white as he wrenched it open. "Molly," he tsked, a bitterness to it that had Molly thinking of where'd they bury her. Surely, she was going to die, there was no way around it. Molly had never been afraid of death, not even now. She was scared of the possible pain, how long he'd drag it out for. "You're being incredibly rude..."

"Sorry," she said, bottom lip trembling. They say the eyes are the windows for the soul for a reason, and right now Molly wished his bloody glasses weren't preventing her from looking into them.

"Are you?" Molly gulped, unsure how to respond. Jim chuckled at that, a deep sound from the back of his throat. "I know this is only our 'first date', but I was hoping for something." A fear crept up then, whether he'd shove his way inside. She couldn't see it, but Jim rolled his eyes at her pale expression. "I'd like a kiss goodbye, if that's all right with you?"

"Oh..." She absently wet her lips, "that's all?"

Jim took a step forward. "Would you prefer if I did more? That I stayed the night?" He grinned, tone still telling of how indignant he was. Molly couldn't think of what to say, and with that delay, Jim gave a harsh bark of laughter. "Then I'll stick with the kiss." He grabbed one of Molly's wrists, pulling her to him. Close enough to smell his cologne again, she peered up at him. Jim dropping her wrist in favour of placing it on her waist, his other went to her face, brushing some strands of hair away. She swallowed at the electricity that zapped her from the touch. 

Her stomach fluttered when she understood his lack of movement, nodding readily before she closed her eyes. His breath was on her face, fingers tilting her slightly as he leaned in. 

The fierceness she had come to expect never happened, not a crash like waves against a rock face. This was chaste, something Jim from IT would do. Gentle and building up as he added gradual pressure, it melted her like she was chocolate, a gooey mess. Her fingers found his shoulders, running down the fabric of his jacket. When he pulled back, not even an inch, Molly leaned forward to snatch him back. He didn't allow it, squeezing her waist before he took a step away. Limply, Molly's hands fell from him, hanging to her sides as he went back to his car, not turning once to glance over his shoulder.

* * *

 

Molly opened her eyes at a persistent beeping, standing in the hospital's kitchen. She turned the machine off, pouring the fresh coffee into her mug. Putting it back on the element, she reached for the cream and poured it in until her drink was a light brown. After stirring it, she put the spoon in the dishwasher and the cream back in the fridge, taking her mug with her as she headed down to the morgue. The lights were already on, and Mike Stamford was at the desk in the corner, flipping through some documents for their newest guest.

"Accidental?" She asked softly, taking her first sip. Mike shook his head, turning to another paper.

"Not for this poor bloke, it's homicide."

"So early?" After another lengthy sip, she put her mug in the office. Returning to wash and glove her hands before she approached the corpse.

"Actually, it was from last night."

"Do you think it's the same guy?"

Mike shrugged. "I don't know, no word if Sherlock is coming." He tossed the documents to the table. "Christ, I don't envy him."

Never one to be squeamish, Molly peeled the sheet back, "Really, Mike. How bad can it b..." She broke off, thinking her vision was playing tricks on her.

Feeling as though she wasn't fully in her body, she absently noted her colleague had worriedly touched her shoulder. "Molly, are you all right?" Her hand dropped the sheet, still unable to look away. It was Michael, already so pale and sunken. Death hadn't been kind to him. What really made the moment surreal for Molly was the corkscrew embedded into his left eye, which she immediately recognized as her own - the one Jim took.

"I-I..." She couldn't look away. "...Excuse me, I think I need a minute." She hurried out of there as fast as she could, blindly stumbling into someone on her way out.

"Molly?" A hand touched her in concern, and she blinked upwards. Sherlock was frowning, eyes narrowed as he studied her face. 

"Sorry," Molly croaked out, sprinting away from the consulting detective. He stood there in the hallway, watching as John finally joined him.

"What's wrong with her?" 

Sherlock squinted, admitting almost to himself, "I don't know, John..." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suggest to those who haven't, to listen to _Strange Fruit_. There's a link to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Web007rzSOI). The song talks about the violence African Americans suffered from in the south, and it is a powerful thing to listen to. xx


	10. ISO

She seriously thought about it, her relationship with her most certainly alive ex-boyfriend, Jim Moriarty. She also thought about Michael's murd- Er... _Death._ These topics didn't come to her lightly, not in the St. Barts' female staff washroom where she was currently occupying a stall. To be specific, she was hunched over vomiting.

Spitting one last time into the porcelain bowl, Molly unsteadily climbed to her feet, sparing a glance at the remains of her breakfast before she pulled the handle. 

It was odd, the retching. Never before had corpses affected her badly, even the floaters. The sound of flushing and the stall door closing behind her, Molly walked up to the sinks. Her pale reflection looked back at her, the perfect expression of guilt. Softly, she exhaled.

* * *

 

The next few moments happened in a blur, Molly creeping up to the morgue, where thankfully, Sherlock was already gone from. She wanted to ask for the rest of the day off, but wasn't sure how to get around her nervousness. It didn't matter in the end, Mike took one glimpse of her and immediately sent her home.

Skin flushed and sweet smelling, Molly stepped out of the shower. She had put the water hot enough to boil a lobster. Steam rising from her body, Molly winced at the persistent sound of a phone ringing. Grabbing a towel, she wrapped one around herself and took another for her head. Satisfied she wouldn't drip water everywhere, she opened the door and padded down to the living room.

She didn't need caller ID to know who it was, the sense of foreboding as she lifted the receiver to her covered ear was enough. "Hello?"

"Molly!"

The woman in question winced. "Yes, Meena?" 

"I just got finished talking with Laura, and she said you weren't feeling well and went home?!"

Molly frowned, looking around at her flat. "Um... Well, yes?"

"Why didn't you bloody say something?!" Molly lifted the receiver, turning it the other way as Meena's yelling increased. After a few moments, Molly brought it back to the side of her head. Catching the end as her friend said, "I'll come over after my shift with some soup an-"

"Meena," she interjected, "I don't need soup, I only need  _rest."_

"Don't be silly, I'm not going to let you wallow in-"

"Meena!" She cringed at the silence afterwards, trying in a far gentler tone, "I'm fine just..." Molly sighed. "Just tired."

Meena clucked her tongue, but didn't push the issue, merely saying, "All right, just call if you need me."

"Thanks, mum." Meena scoffed on the other side, and the two exchanged goodbyes. Hanging the phone up, Molly loudly sighed, going around the end table to plop down on the couch. "Oh!" Hurriedly, she stood back up, turning to face what she had sat on. Slightly crushed, it was a box, carefully wrapped in pretty paper with a silver ribbon bow on top. Molly couldn't help but look up, drawing her towel tighter as she frantically looked around the room.

Had it been there when she first got home? For the life of her she couldn't remember. 

 _I should call the police._ She promptly got rid of the idea. What would she say to them? That someone had broken into her house to give her a present? If she did that and they would dig into these past days, they'd know about Jim. She'd be arrested for harbouring a fugitive, a criminal that should be dead. They'd ask about that... _Sherlock_ would ask about that. 

Shivering, she made up up her mind. Five minutes later, her hair was messily in a bun and she was wearing her Winnie the Pooh pajamas. And carefully, she was slicing the gift open with a trusty scalpel. Of course, she had goggles and gloves on. You can never be too careful! Taking in measured breaths, and pretending she was carving into a lackluster corpse rather than a bomb, Molly managed to peel the cardboard back. And cushioned by pink crumpled tissue paper, there was a.... A... Bat?

Molly blinked dumbly for a full minute, unclear if she was having a mental breakdown or a stroke. There was a bat inside the box. To be clear it was in a glass dome with a wooden bottom, and very much a lesser short-nosed fruit bat - she knew because she had thought they were cute. It was hanging upside down on a perch, fixed into place with its wings folded over itself. Setting her scalpel down, she gingerly took it out, admiring the workmanship behind the taxidermy before she placed it on the coffee table. Returning back to the box, she withdrew the only other contents, a card.

On it was a cartoon bat looking very sad in a heart print sweater, on the front it said:  _sorry if I was acting batty!_ She opened the card, reading the familiar messy, but somehow elegant handwriting there. 

_Sorry for killing the waiter. IOU_

_Big love,_

_JM ∞/xo_

 

Molly put the card back, unsure how to process this. That, not only did Moriarty kill a man who Molly was talking to, but how afterwards he'd gotten her a gift to make up for it. And not only that, but somehow, he figured he owed her something... She shuddered, not wanting to know how he could possibly make up for such a careless tragedy. The symbol for an infinite amount of love put a bitter taste on her tongue. If this was supposed to feel like love, then, she'd much rather go back to being lonely. 

* * *

 

The next day approached far too quickly, and although, Molly could have used one of her sick days, she forced herself to go. Perhaps a foolish way to punish herself. Mike had given her a skeptical look over, but reluctantly nodded when Molly insisted that she was fine. 

"Are you sure, Molly? No one is going to think less of you if go home." And sure, that sounded nice, curled up in a ball in bed watching Pride and Prejudice, but that wouldn't help anyone. Especially her, she needed this... To stay busy.

"Thanks, Mike, but I'll be right as punch." She gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but Mike didn't look convinced. 

"Right, well..." Mike's gaze darted around the morgue, "Just say something if that cold hits you again, okay?" She nodded. The sudden knock on the entrance door had them both jumping. Mike stepped around the slab with a curse, "That'll be them."

"The loved ones?" Molly wet her lips, now wishing she'd agreed. She wasn't sure she could stand seeing any of Michael's relatives, not when she was the cause of his death.

"Yeah, they finally contacted them for an ID, our poor boy's papers aren't up to date."

The word _runaway_ flashed through Molly's mind as Mike got the door, pulling it open. She walked over, joining her colleague with a tight smile. Without warning, immediately her heart broke free from her rib cage and fell onto the floor. It beat weakly on the tiles as Molly remained frozen in place, eyes wide as she stared at Michael.

Not noticing her plight, Mike went on with the pleasantries, shaking the alive Michael's hand with a grim smile. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Russell. I just wished it was under better circumstances."

"Please, it's Nathan. I'm very thankful for everything, it hasn't been..." Nathan blinked harshly. "Easy. We haven't kept in touch, but I never thought something like _this_ could..." He sucked in a deep breath, trying to control his emotions. 

"It's quite all right." Awkwardly, Mike patted him on the shoulder. "Are you sure you're feeling up to seeing the...?" 

"Y-yes." Nathan lifted his head up, only now noticing Molly when he glanced to the side. "Sorry, I... I don't think we've talked. You're...?"

"Dr. Hooper." Mike promptly filled in, picking up on Molly's startling silence. "She was the other pathologist who worked on... Well, you know." There was a reason why Mike was never the one to console the relatives of the recently departed, he offered the same sympathy as a distant uncle would give you a pat or two on the back if you scraped a knee. Great if you wanted to hear a funny story, but not for a shoulder to cry on.

"S-sorry!" Molly blurted, finally rediscovering how to speak again. "You just um..." She frantically gestured at Michae- Um... Nathan. "It took me by surprise, you looking so much alike."

"We're identical twins." Nathan said with a tired smile. His smile suddenly broke apart when he corrected himself, "We _were_ twins. Now it's only me..."

Once more to the rescue, Mike hastily asked, "Who's thirsty? How about a cup of coffee on me?"

"I..." Nathan was cut off as Mike herded him out of the morgue, stepping on Molly's heart as he left. Tears pricked the corners of the lonesome pathologist's eyes, and with an angry sniffle, she wiped them away with the back of her hand before she chased after them. 

 


	11. Metering

Jim sat back on the sofa, laptop resting on his lap. There was an empty tub of ice cream with a spoon resting on the coffee table, which spoke of how he'd pilfered the freezer. And to initial his amusement, the dessert had been named  _death by chocolate._ Cute.

A chirp reaching his ears, Jim paused his typing, peering up with a genuine smile. Landing on the end of the sofa, Toby padded over to him, meowing a greeting. His paws lightly stepping on Jim's socked feet - they were pink with a knife print, the consulting criminal's feline companion made his way up Jim's legs and to his side. Jim chuckled softly, moving the laptop a tad for Toby to be more comfortable against his stomach.

"Do you want to see?" He adjusted the screen, pressing play on the video feed so Toby could watch as well. It was from yesterday and Jim had already seen it, actually he's watched it a couple of times now. Absently, he petted the cat, smile spreading partially when he received purrs in response. The other part was from the video, surveillance footage of this very room, from one of the many cameras he planted back when he and Molly first dated.

Jim chewed on his bottom lip, fighting a grin while he watched Molly determinedly stomp into the living room. She was wearing those ridiculous pajamas he'd come to miss, a tubby yellow bear sticking his paw into a honey pot. He snorted when Molly snapped her gloves on, looking like she was prepped for surgery rather than opening his gift. Just as he felt himself decompress, all the dark swirling emotions he's been feeling these past few days disappear, his cell phone began to ring. Toby lifted his head, eyes slits as Jim sighed, taking his cell phone from his jacket pocket. He tsked at the caller ID, but pressed answer and held the phone up to his ear.

"Yes?"

A tiny voice greeted him with a "Hello, I'm sorry to be interrupting you, sir." Jim hummed, resuming petting Toby as he continued to watch the recording.

"But you're still doing it. Not much sincerity, is there?" He could hear the worm on the other end squawk, flailing around as if he was already pierced with a hook. "Spit it out."

"Do you remember that man, sir, that you... Uh, killed?"

"A man that I killed?" Jim chuckled, "You'll have to be more specific, I kill a man every day of the week."

"The waiter?" The video was paused. A pair of eyes fixated on the still image of Molly holding his card.

"What about him?"

"He has a twin."

" _And?"_   That word was razor sharp, enough to raise blood. The man on the other side shivered, feeling his body become numb.

"H-he... Um, he's at a cafe with your... With Miss Hooper." The nameless man gulped, terror increasing at the harsh breathing in his ear. That was never a good sign. His boss hung up, and blankly he lowered his cell, turning it off. He was sitting in his parked car, his partner inside as he kept him updated. They were only supposed to watch over Miss Hooper, make sure she got to and fro safely, but this new man in her life was really messing with things. He sighed, scrubbing the side of his face.

* * *

_Forty-five minutes earlier_

 

Molly was panting when she managed to catch up, wordlessly, she pledged to renew her membership at the gym. "Mike!" She gasped, sudden appearance having the pair spin around in surprise. "I-I'm sure Nathan is already having a rough day, coffee from the canteen won't make things better. Maybe I could..." Molly gathered her strength, looking the young man straight in the eyes. "What I'm trying to say is, may I buy you a cup of coffee?"

It's apparent that Nathan is taken aback, his first impression of her wasn't the greatest, but slowly his face breaks out into a smile. "That would be nice." 

"I'm sorry," Molly says as she turns to Mike, "is that all right with you?"

Her colleague glances between them, a bit confused but all the same gives a nod. "Just send me a message when you're on your way back."

Molly gives Mike a pat on the shoulder, then tells Nathan to head to the front, she'll only be a minute to fetch her coat and purse. Six minutes later, she's reunited with him and strolling down the sidewalk in an attempt of a conversation. The beginnings are a little bit difficult, they don't have much in a common asides from the deceased Michael. 

"So," Molly starts, "I figure you're not from around here?"

"No, me and my family are from the North." Molly nods, as though she already knew that. "And how about you, Dr. Hooper?"

"Please, just call me Molly."

Nathan spares her a glance, "All right, then. Molly, did you grow up in the city?"

"In Winchester actually, but I moved during my university days. It wouldn't be so bad, travelling to my hometown if I had any family, only an hour."

Nathan clears his throat, "Winchester is very nice, it's um..."

"Medieval?" Molly offers with a forced laugh, only now realizing she told this stranger how utterly alone she was in the world. How pathetic is that? Thankfully, she spots the cafe sign in the distance, a beacon of hope. "There it is!" She gives Nathan a smile, which is stiff around the edges. They both hurry towards the shop as if it'll somehow rid them of the uncomfortable tension.

When the door is pushed and they finally head inside, they're bombarded by the scent of freshly ground coffee and warmth. Molly's shoulders subconsciously sag, exhaling. Out of the corner of her eye, she can tell Nathan is the same way, that this place is a temporary haven. "How do you take your coffee?"

"Oh, you don't have to..." He breaks off at Molly's head shaking, giving a sigh before he admits, "Black with two sugars." Molly smiles weakly, reminded of another person as she heads to the counter, fishing through her purse. Waiting in line, it gives her time to look over the menu, settling on an iced coffee. It wasn't something she usually went for, especially with the weather, but maybe she needed a change?

The man in front of her in the queue grabbing his coffee, Molly stepped forward when he left, saying, "Large coffee black with two sugars, and a medium iced coffee, please." Passing her money to the barista, she patiently waited as her order was rung through and made. Two minutes later, she was approaching the corner table Nathan sat at.

He lifted his gaze, smiling. "Thanks."

"It's not a problem," Molly shook her head, "it's the least I can do." She took the seat across from him.

"Why?" Nathan paused with a sip, "It's not like you killed my brother." Molly tried not to fidget in her chair, raising the straw to her lips as she looked to the side. The silence between them prolonged as she felt his inquisitive eyes on her. 

"So..." She mumbled, trying to think of a way to change the subject back to something less incriminating. "What's your occupation?"

"Why? Are you hiring?" Nathan chuckled, though the sound dipped when Molly weakly joined in. "Er, I work at the York art gallery as a historian - making repairs on priceless paintings and all that."

"Is it something you're very passionate about?" That must have been the right question, Molly watched as a considerable part of Nathan's body relax. 

"Yes, I like... I don't know if this will sound strange, but I like taking things apart and seeing how famous artists made a piece - each individual brushstroke."

Molly eagerly nodded, "I completely understand what you mean, I've always been like that." Although, she didn't point out it had been with biology, taking apart dead rodents she had found even as a child. She wasn't sure if he'd appreciate that. The rest of their conversation went surprisingly well, going by quickly as their cups were drained. And for once, Molly didn't think about Jim and Sherlock, only the cramp in her side from laughing too hard. In the midst of a joke, Molly glanced to her cell phone, eyes widening when she noticed the time. "Oh! Sorry, Nathan," she started to stand up, "I have to head back."

"It's quite all right, I'll join you." Nathan smiled at her, causing tiny butterflies to skate along the pathologist's stomach.

"I'd like that." She gathered her things as he tossed their cups into the bin, joining her as they stepped outside. "It was very nice meeting you, despite well..."

He hummed in agreement, sadness creasing the edges of his smile but not overshadowing it. "You're a lovely person to talk to, Molly. Maybe we could get another cup of coffee together? I'll still be town to deal with... Everything. And it'd be nice to recognize a familiar face." 

Molly stared at her shoes, chewing on her bottom lip as she thought it over. That was the problem, Nathan was as equally handsome and charming as his late brother. The worst part about that isn't that he's younger than her, but how she can't help but notice the lingering stares he's been giving her. It's not often when a bloke gives her that expression, but she still fully well knows what it means. 

Jim looked at her like that too, when he thought she couldn't see him. Even today, she pondered whether it was also a part of the facade, that he did it intentionally or not. Shivering, she felt his invisible hands on her, a brushing of fingers trailing down her spine.

"I'd..." Nathan was better off without her, she didn't want to be the cause of his death too. She peered upwards, choking at the hopeful side-eye he was giving her. She startled herself by saying, "Anytime, I'd love to do that." 

"Perfect!" She looked away, wanting to hit herself. How much would she hurt this man?

* * *

 

They went their separate ways at the hospital, Molly making the descent to the morgue to finish up some documents before she and Mike wished each other a good weekend. She didn't feel the ominous charge in the air until she returned to her flat, there it crackled with it. Taking a step inside as the door closed behind her, immediately her fight or flight instincts kicked in. A predator was on the loose and she was a tasty morsel. Creeping into her own home, she found the living room and kitchen empty. 

Toby was found in the laundry room, sleeping in the basket again. Sighing ever so slightly in relief, as her cat wasn't the best security system when it came to Jim, she checked the rest of the flat like the boogie man was around every corner. Which wasn't far from the truth. The last dreadful room that she peered into was the bedroom, she had a premonition that's where she'd finally see him. Inhaling deeply, she threw open the door, coiling back like a scary ghost would pop up. There was nothing there besides her crumpled clothes and books on the floor; she entered, gingerly picking up the trashy romance novels she'd been reading.

She placed them on the dresser, then reached down to absently pick the clothes up. When she straightened, she felt plumes of hot air on her neck, and the sensation set her nerves panicking. Before she could scream, clothes falling at her feet, a pair of hands shoved her roughly. Staggering forward, she caught herself on the edge of the bed, scraping her knee on the wooden frame. Cursing, she twisted around, chest rising and falling rapidly as she panted.

She blandly stared at the pink socks, taking a few seconds before she managed to draw her gaze upwards. They were at odds with the rest of his outfit, light black slacks and jacket with a dusty olive long sleeved shirt underneath. When she finally landed on his face, it was as she feared, he was glaring at her. Molly gulped, action having a cruel smile stretch Jim's lips. "Did you have a good day at work, dearest?" 

Mutely, Molly wondered what to do, should she stand up or remain seated? What would most likely get her killed? She forced her limbs to cooperate, grabbing the frame to steady herself. "I-it was fine."

 _"Fine?"_   Jim gave a short bark of laughter. "Only fine?! I'm shocked, I would have thought you'd have more to say about your date."

"D-date?" Molly strained to say, already it felt as if someone was strangling her. The fact that he knew so quickly about Nathan had her nauseous. She gawked at him, mind racing for a phrase to calm this prickling atmosphere. "I'm not... It wasn't a date!" Yeah, like _that_ was going to save her. "I only had coffee with him because I felt bad that you..." She couldn't say the rest of the words. What if he bugged her room? He'd have the perfect recording to further bind her to him. 

"What, killed him?" Chuckling darkly, Jim walked over to her, eyes burning. "Are you upset that I squashed that insect?"

Molly lowered her gaze to his chest, scowling as she mumbled, "you're such a..."

"Such a what, dearest?" He stopped in front of her. "Monster? Did you forget who I am?"

Her head snapped up. "I didn't forget for one bloody second that you are a twat!" A look of surprise overcame Jim, staring at her as if she grew a second head. "I just never..." She clenched her fists, "thought it would be because you're jealous over _me._ It made sense if it was Sherlock, but why..." Her hands uncurled, limply hanging by her sides. _Me?_

"Molly." No, she didn't want to look - didn't want to see what he thought of her. "Molly..." She gulped, chin pressing into her chest as she stared at those ridiculous socks. "Molly!" She finally looked up, caught off guard as her body was thrown backwards. As all of the oxygen in her lungs left her, her eyes were locked onto Jim's face. She had mere moments to inhale, trying to fill her chest before he came after her.


	12. Viewfinder

Softly, Molly exhaled, stretching her body in the warmth of the morning sunlight. Ever so slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking at the familiar sight of her ceiling. By her side she could hear a low rumbling sound, the slight noise from it catching her off guard. Turning her head, her eyes widened, staring numbly at the snoring person beside her. 

Jim's sleeping face was devoid of his usual frightening mischievousness, oddly enough he appeared rather innocent. Molly bit her bottom lip, chest giving a funny pang. Even asleep he was playing with her emotions. Trying her best not to wake him, she gingerly lifted the warm arm that had been thrown over her. Slipping from his grasp, she placed it back down again. Taking a moment to stare as his fingers seemed to stretch out and then curl, drawing his arm back to his torso. She took a few precious moments to study him, figuring she may never get another chance to see him like this. The curve of his face, all of the slopes, she memorized with a guilty fondness. Unable to help herself, she brushed some strands of hair from his eyes, watching as his brows furrowed at the action. Wishing she didn't feel so reluctant, she stood up. 

Image imprinted in her mind, Molly grabbed her fuzzy housecoat from where it hung on the door, putting it on and firmly tying it in a vain attempt at covering her nakedness. Tiptoeing out of the room and into the kitchen, she tried to distract herself by putting the kettle on and making up some breakfast. 

Cracking some eggs into a sizzling frying pan, she reached for the black pepper grinder on the counter. As her fingers wrapped around it, last night came back to her like a strange dream, events almost impossible.

* * *

 

Trembling, her eyes instinctively closed, fingers digging into her jaw as his hands cradled her head. He kissed her with a biting hunger, as if he'd been starved, and maybe that was true. His body's full weight caging her against the bed, he melted all of her thoughts and insecurities away. All of her self loathing was wiped from her mind with his passion, the lingering taste of anger that scorched everything he touched.  Molly moaned as she grabbed the back of his head, pulling his hair.

Muffled hiss against her sore lips, he pulled back to lean on his knees, shrugging his jacket off. Tossing to a corner of the room, he then took his shirt off, letting it join the other garment. Falling from his shoulders, Molly trailed her hands down from his clavicle to his stomach. When they spent that first night together, when he was still goofy Jim from IT, he had explained the scars offhandedly. A mumbled admittance, that his childhood had been spent with a father that drank too much, whose violence was ignored by his mother. At the time she had drawn him into her arms, hugging as if she could soothe the pain away.

Now she touched an angry line along his ribs, wondering if it had been a lie as well. Most likely it had been, his line of career was prone to injury... To death. That word made her grimace, Michael's corpse flashing behind her eyelids. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that would be enough to be rid of the memory. It didn't work, not when her own warped sense of morality rose to the forefront. What a horrible person she was, to crave the murderer of such a gentle soul. A man who had been nothing but kind to her.

"Molly." A hand was on her chin, forcing it up. Compelled her eyes opened, staring through slits. Jim was glaring down at her, brow raised at the emotions fighting for control. "Really?" His voice dripped with a sharp edge, bringing goosebumps to her flesh. "You're thinking of him now? My, what a masochistic you must be." 

Annoyance struck her, nose scrunching as she wordlessly tried to burn some form of sense into that big forehead of his. Chuckling, Jim grinned, teeth showing their sharpness before he decided to put them to good use. Descending on Molly's neck, he sucked hard until she was hissing through her teeth.

"You..." She breathed, the words leaving her as her hands hung onto his shoulders. Michael once again left her mind, replaced with the scent of something burning. Burning?

 

"Shit!" Molly nearly dropped her spatula, quickly flipping the eggs over. Frantic to recover from this situation, she slid the pan over to a cool element, turning the stove top off. Waving smoke from her face, she hurried to the window over the sink, yanking it open. The air that wafted in was cool, smelling of dirt and cigarettes. Even though the breeze helped in clearing it, she was a tad too late, smoke alarm emitting a sharp wail. "No, no!" Praying that he hadn't heard the deafening sound, Molly hurriedly dragged a chair from the dinning table, cursing her height as she climbed onto it. Even then she had to stand on the points of her feet to reach the hush button, a steady stream of curses mumbled under her breath. The wail dipped before silencing completely, and the sudden lack was unnerving.

Molly cringed, ears straining to hear any sign of life. There was a loud sigh, a shift of fabric and then the door swung open. Unimpressed, Jim was glowering at her, naked with messy bedhead.

"D-did I..." She wet her lips. Jim's eyes darted down to note the action. "Wake you?"

"Molly," Jim drew out slowly, a whisper that might as well have been shouted. "I've killed men for breathing too loudly, what do you think?"

"Er- I, um..." She forced her gaze up to the ceiling, not trusting herself to not follow that trail of hair under his navel. "I brewed coffee...?" Like the last few minutes never happened, all of the pretense of irritation fell from Jim's face, and a new emotion grew there. Molly's eyes dropped down, catching a glimpse of it before Jim's face was schooled into blankness.

"Perfect." He walked around the chair, confidently strolling towards the kitchen. Stifling a cough at Jim's pale ass, Molly clambered down, huffing as she dragged the chair from the hallway and to the table. He was already pouring coffee into a mug, humming a familiar tune under his breath. It was frustrating to no end that she couldn't place it, but she had bigger issues at the moment.

Putting the chair down, she turned to face her guest, pausing when Jim took a lengthy sip. Swallowing, he exhaled, eyes momentarily closing as he savoured the taste.

"Is it okay?" Snatched from the peace, Jim tilted his head, still not looking at her.

"I'm used to a more expensive brand, not one from the grocery but..." He paused, listening to Molly shift her feet on the tiles. Casting a glance to the side, he took in the plated buttered toast and the burned eggs before he fully turned around. "Is this for me?" Jim studied her flushed expression, lips turning into a pout as he stepped towards the stove. "How very domestic..." 

Self-conscious, Molly tucked a lock of hair behind an ear, not knowing whether that was a good thing or not. Would he kill her over something like breakfast? It was obviously not what he was used to, she had no doubt he awoke to food made by some famous personal chef. How could she compare to that?

While Molly brooded over her limited culinary abilities, Jim grabbed a plate and fork from the cupboards, taking the spatula to load it with food. Walking past the blinking pathologist, he sat himself down at the table before he began shoveling food into his mouth. "D-do you," he said around bulging cheeks, "have any ketchup?"

"Er- right, sorry." Forgetting her inner turmoil, Molly went over to the fridge. Pulling the door open she hunched over, looking for the bottle until she remembered where it was. Plucking the condiment from its shelf, she let the door close as she walked back to the table, handing it over. She waited a few seconds, expecting a 'thank you' that never came. Pursing her lips, she couldn't help but note the differences between this man and the one she had known. Jim from IT would have said it, he always did.

Molly sighed as she padded out of the room and to the bathroom, mumbling out "I'm going to have a shower." Having finally disappeared, Jim looked down at his meal. He couldn't remember the last time someone willingly made him food, besides his long dead grandmother. 

He put another forkful of egg into his mouth; is this what people meant by the phrase, made with love? Gently he put the utensil down, running his fingers through his hair. Pushing his chair back, he carried his dishes to the sink before he went into the bedroom. While the water ran, he picked his crumpled clothes from the floor and dressed himself. Giving his appearance a glance over in the mirror above the dresser, he was about to leave when he paused. 

Bending slightly, he opened the lowest dresser drawer, rummaging until he found what he was looking for. It was one of Molly's pajama shirts, an over sized band shirt her late father had. Lifting it up to his face, he breathed in deeply. 

Cherries with vanilla, and the scent of decomposition that Molly could never fully get rid of. The pathologist's name rose to his mind, and with a heavy sigh, he bunched it into a ball, taking the shirt with him. Squinting against the bright sunlight, he quietly closed the flat door behind him.

 

Unaware of these change of events, Molly stood in the bathroom, door locked this time. Housecoat pooled around her feet, she stared at the already fogging mirror. More specifically, she was fixated on her own naked body, wincing as she studied her throat. She looked like... Looked like she had just been _attacked._  She was covered in dark marks, mauled appearance making her question how she could possibly explain this to Meena, to... She shuddered. To Sherlock. Hopefully it would look better after the weekend, if not, it became apparent she would be using up a tube of concealer, and wearing high collar shirts for a while.

She foolishly touched one of the hickeys, cursing at how sore it was. Dropping her hand, she glared at her own reflection, wondering how she could possibly have underestimated Jim Moriarty's ferocity. Sighing, she tore her gaze away, pulling the curtain back.

* * *

  _The flashback continued_

 

Blushing, she stared to the side, leaning upwards to shrug out of her cream patterned cardigan. Jim grabbed it from her, flinging it like it was contaminated with some unknown disease. Her collared blouse and her floral bra got the same treatment, her beige skirt on the other hand... He lingered there. A gleam in his eyes that reminded Molly of when they dated, the camera's light flashing with an endless amount of photos.

Lightly his fingers skated along the fabric, crossing her hips as he found the hidden zipper on the side.  Pulling it down, his eyes remained locked onto her's, grin wolfish as he yanked it down. Molly bit back a curse, not wanting to see the garment ruined, but the lack of care did little to dampen her arousal. 

Nearly naked besides her mismatched knickers, she watched as another piece of clothing sailed through the air, equally annoyed that Jim still had his trousers on. The absolute nerve! Frowning Molly opened her mouth, but was cut off by a melody.

 _"...I got a pocket, got a pocketful of sunshine._  
_I got a love, and I know that it's all mine._  
_Oh, oh whoa..."_

 Wishing she was one of her patients, Molly closed her eyes, Meena's ringtone mocking her.

"Molly." She forced herself to open them again, taking in Jim's unnerving smile. "Why don't you answer it?"

 _"...Do what you want, but you're never gonna break me._  
_Sticks and stones are never gonna shake me._  
_No, oh whoa..."_

"Y-you're... you're serious?" Jim hummed along with the song, fiddling with the elastic band of her knickers. Oh... Before she could rationalize whether she was desperate enough to risk her best friend hearing her cum, she grabbed her cell from the nightstand and hit answer. "H-hello?" She greeted, breathier than she would have preferred.

"Molly, are you okay?"

"Yes, why..." Jim was pulling her panties down "w-why wouldn't I be?"

"We were supposed to meet up after work, but by the time I went down to the morgue, you were gone."

"Oh, sorry... I'm.. I'm not feeling well."

"You sound sick, do you need me to come over?"

"Um..." Jim was kissing from the base of her throat and down her body, teeth scraping as he went along. "I-I think I'll be covered."

"Are you sure? It's along my way so it wouldn't be a bother. I had wanted to go out for drinks, but if you aren't well I can just bring over some soup." Jim was placing nipping bites on her thighs, peering up at her with a knowing grin.

"N-no, I'm okay."

"Molly, are you sure, you sound kind of fu-"

Voice high pitched and strangled, Molly quickly said "I'm okay, love you. Bye!" Ending the call as Meena made a concerned sound, feeling as if she was about to burst into flames, she tossed her cell phone back to the nightstand.

Lifting her legs so they were resting more on his shoulders, Jim asked between a well placed kiss to her inner thigh, "Wrong number?" Molly was unable to give him a proper response without sputtering, fairly certain that she was going to hell for selling her soul (and body) to such a sinful being.

* * *

  _Later that day_

 

Leaning back in a leather chair, feet resting on a desk, Jim stared as a short nervous man entered the room. In his sweating hands he held a manila envelope, which he timidly passed to his bodyguard, who Jim knew as David... Or was it Daniel? Perhaps Ezekiel? Really, he never bothered remembering. Either way he handed the envelope over to the terrifying man, who passed it to an even greater ghastly man. Of course a simple text message or email would have been significantly easier, but Jim always did have a soft spot for the dramatics.

Blankly staring at his profusely sweating messenger, Jim pulled out the sheets of paper, attached with a clip was a handful of photos. Finally dropping his gaze to the documents, he gave a slight nod, enough for his guest to scurry from the office as politely as possible.

"What is it that they say about twins? That they're double the trouble...?" Jim clucked his tongue as if his companion had responded, "I think this is going to be double the fun."


	13. Al Servo

The problem with being best friends with a nurse, is that they don't take too well to bullshit, they already deal with too much of it at work. Perhaps all nurses are a little psychic, they immediately know when someone is doing precisely that, bullshitting them. Meena stood in Molly's living room, taking everything in with such appraising eyes that even Sherlock would be proud.

Nothing escaped her notice, it was all jotted down in her mind. Before she finally did speak, she let out a loud exasperated sigh. "Really?"

Molly looked to the side, cheeks warming. "I don't understand why you're so upset."

"You said you were sick," Meena said slowly, lifting the large tupperware in her hands. "So I brought soup..."

"You didn't have to go to the trouble." Molly attempted a smile, but it quickly dropped when her best friend started to glare. Never a good sign that, usually people ran for the hills. "I'm feeling a lot better now."

"Molly," Meena drew out, strolling past her and placing the container on the kitchen counter. Turning to face her again, she placed her hands on her hips. "I'm not stupid."

"I never said you were!"

"No, but you're treating me like I am. I'm not blind either, I know what's go on."

"You..." She glanced around her flat, hoping she didn't appear as guilty as she felt. "You do...?"

Meena snorted, gesturing to the sink behind her. "There's a lot of dishes."

"So? Maybe I ate a lot and just didn't have time to wash them."

"And everything smells."

"Okay, ouch."

"Not you," Meena rolled her eyes. "It smells... Well, expensive."

Molly crossed her arms, "Who says I don't like expensive things?" She frowned at the sharp bark of laughter from her friend.

"Oh, please! All of your clothes are second-hand." Molly opened her mouth. "Or hand-me-downs." She closed it. "The only money you spend on is your cat, books, or tea."

She couldn't think of much to say then to mumble, "His name is Toby... There's nothing wrong with buying him things." Her friend threw her hands into the air.

"Of course not, I'm not saying there is! I think your relationship with him is cute..." _Cute?_   "But," Meena stressed, "I know you, and this doesn't smell like some fancy candle or perfume you got. This is like something a guy would wear... A..." She breathed in deeply, squinting as she thought about it. "Not business man boring, or a generic bottle of cologne at the mall." _God, she was good_. If she kept at it, Molly was worried her best friend would wander the streets and sniff out the supposed to be dead criminal mastermind. She'd discover his location better than Sherlock Holmes ever did. How sad was that? "I don't know," Meena finally said, "I really can't tell much besides that he has some obvious skill."

Molly rose a brow at that, "Skill? You got all of that from some scent? You know it could have easily come from outside, I had the windows open earlier this morning."

"I can tell, it smells like you burned eggs again." Molly bit her tongue and didn't comment. "And no, I knew there was a guy here because of your neck."

"My ne-" She dropped her hand to her throat, realizing a few hickeys were peeking from under her collar. _Shit._

Meena winked at her. "How's that for skill?"

* * *

_On the other side of London_

 

Nathan sighed as he leaned back in his seat, staring at the papers in front of him. His coffee was left untouched on the small round table, surely it was cold now. Everything was a mess, he couldn't think clearly. There was so much paperwork, bills that Michael had that needed to be paid and future costs for the funeral. God, what was he going to do about the funeral? He squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the chattering of the other customers in the quaint cafe. 

Maybe he should ask around about discounts? Would Molly know about them? His eyes opened at the thought of the tiny pathologist, she was a little weird at first... Okay, she was still weird - nervous for whatever reason, but some people are like that. If Nathan was honest with himself, he liked her a lot. He enjoyed her company thoroughly. Should he call her?

He picked his cell phone up from the table, entering his password and clicking on his contacts, hesitating before he hit call.

 

Molly cursed at the ringtone piercing through the air, all too aware of her friend's staring as she took her cell from her jeans back pocket. Her brows furrowed at the name on the ID.

"Is that him?"

"No," she mumbled, contemplating declining.

"Go on, answer it. Pretend I'm not here." 

"If only," Molly mumbled, reluctantly accepting the call. "Hello?"

"Hi, Molly. I'm not bothering you, am I?"

She glanced up at her friend, "No you're not. How are you?" Meena raised a brow.

"As good as I can with everything... Um, how has your day been going so far?" God, there was a bit of Molly's heart - now broken.

"It's been fine, I have a friend over."

"Shit! Sorry. Do you want me to call back, or..."

"Oh, no!" Molly shook her head, but then realized he couldn't see her. "No, I'm... It's okay. Was there a specific reason why you called?" Pointedly, she ignored Meena mouthing the word 'cute' at her. Rolling her eyes as she turned away, pacing around her flat.

"Right! Sorry. I, um, I was wondering since you work at the morgue if... Do you know of any funeral homes where..." Molly winced when Nathan broke off, hearing the edge to his voice as it mingled with some busy background noise.

"I know of a few places," she admitted. "I have this one friend, he sells at a cheap rate - well, cheaper than some of the other places. I can give him a call if you like?"

"Would you?" She chewed on her bottom lip, chest aching at the sigh of relief he gave. "I can't thank you enough, Molly. You've taken a tremendous weight off of my shoulders."

"It's," she caught sight of her reflection in a mirror. She turned away. "It's no problem. I'll call you back with an update."

"Um, actually..." Molly saw her friend at the end of the hallway, peering around the bend with a knowing smile on her face. Molly sniffed, blinking rapidly. "Do you want to grab another coffee? Not today, but would you be available tomorrow?"

"I'm not..."

"Please?" Molly frowned. "I really need..." _I need someone to talk to._

"Okay." She whispered "I'll send you a text if anything changes."

"Thanks, Molly. Bye."

"...Bye." She ended the call, staring at her cell phone absently.

"Hey." She looked up at her friend's worried expression, "Are you... Okay?"

* * *

 

Nathan smiled at his cell phone, he placed it back onto the table. Pushing his chair back, he took his jacket from the back of it and put it on, then he gathered his papers into a nice neat pile. Tucking his cell phone into his pocket and grabbing his papers, he took his coffee and headed out. He was pushing past the barrier of the door frame, when someone suddenly came in, their shoulder making contact with his. The lid of his styrofoam cup came off, and he hissed at some of the hot liquid that splashed onto the front of his white shirt. "Shit!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" 

Juggling with the papers, hurriedly Nathan tried to dab at the front of his clothing, but it was too late. Already there was a large stain on the front of it, he looked like a complete idiot. 

"Are you okay?" 

He scoffed, brows knitted together as he snapped, "Does it look like I'm okay?!" Nathan looked up. "You should have watched where you were going!" The man in front of him frowned, expression sincerely apologetic, it made Nathan feel bad about raising his voice. He sighed, taking in the sight of the shorter man. "Look... It's okay, I'm fine."

"No, it isn't, I feel horrible. There's this store that isn't that far, I'll buy you a new one."

"Uh, no I really don't think that will be necessary."

"I insist! Let me make this up to you." Nathan studied him a little further, taking in his well made and form fitting suit. His slicked back hair and the way he held himself spoke volumes of the type of person he was, he was clearly a man with money. He licked his lips, glancing down to the papers in his hands. When Nathan looked up, he gave a tired smile.

"Okay, lead the way."

The other man gave a crooked grin, showing off the sharpness of his teeth. "Trust me, you won't regret this."

 


	14. Aspect Ratio

How utterly ridiculous and problematic life was for Molly, it was horrid that her daily simplicity went from bland to outrageous in an instant. She could barely keep up, it was an effort just to make sure her head was on the correct way, let alone to think of dealing with the man who has entered her life. Or better yet, who has returned to it.

Clearly her blood pressure was through the roof about the whole thing. Not very good, stress is a major reason why people end up on her slab, she could do without the whole being dead thing. If it could be helped... She wasn't so sure anymore, at least not with today's climate for disaster.

"Meena, please! This isn't necessary!" She was trying to remain calm, she really was, even with the bony knuckles digging into her side. Molly hissed, squirming as she tried to move away. Her now _ex-best friend_ wasn't going to let her escape that easily, and swiftly increased the hold around the upset pathologist's head. 

This really wasn't how both parties expected the day to go, but sometimes you just need to pin your 'former' best friend to the floor and jab your knuckles in between their ribs until they tell you about the bloke they've been secretly seeing. They've done this since they were teenagers, and Meena didn't see any problem with continuing it now. 

"Then tell me!" She said an angry click of her tongue, increasing the digging movement of her hand until Molly yelped. In retaliation, her friend attempted to elbow Meena in the chest, or at least to somehow blindly dislodge her. It wasn't working...

"He's just..." Molly began to cough, face burning. "I-I've already told you about him!" She felt a plume of hot air on the back of her neck, coming from Meena as she spoke.

" _What?_   You did not tell me about any guy you've been seeing, not one that would mark up your neck." There was a few moments of silence as Meena thought about it, giving a disgruntled sigh as she finally released her hostage. Immediately Molly crawled away to the other side of the living room, coughing and settling in a corner.

What breath she found was at hence gone when her friend wonderingly called out, "Oh for fuck's sake. This isn't about that ghost, is it?"

_Shit. Shit. Shit. S-_

"No!" Molly protested with a glare, but not one directed at her friend. She couldn't direct her gaze to Meena. 

"What about it then? Who did you meet, or did Jim finally ascend from the grave? Are we dealing with a zombie now instead of an apparition?"

Molly couldn't think of anything to say beyond the mumbled, "Might as well be." Of course that was a foolish thing to do, especially since Meena heard it in the very quiet flat. 

"Dear..." 

Hastily Molly jumped to her feet, flashing a smile and suddenly needing to be busy. "Why don't I make us a pot of tea? Would you like a cuppa? I have green tea..." Face feeling as if it was on fire, she fluttered over to one of the kitchen cabinets. Opening it with a nervous, "Oh look at that, all out! I'm just going to pop over to the store a-"

" _Molly_."

She froze, mouth midway around forming a word. Blankly she stared at the rows of tins and boxes of tea. Keenly she listened as Meena climbed to her feet and made her way over, with a gentle hand to her shoulder she turned Molly around. The expression of worry made Molly's heart do a flip. 

"You do realize," Meena said slowly and softly, "that I would do anything for you? If something was wrong, that I would be more than willing to help you solve that problem?"

"I know," Molly mumbled, eyes straying to stare at the ceiling. A thumb on her chin brought her gaze back down again. 

"Do you?"

"Yes," Molly breathed.

A tad satisfied Meena nodded. "Good. And if you ever want to talk about something, I won't judge you. Okay...?"

Molly chewed on her bottom lip, "Even if I said I was dating a supposed to be dead criminal?" The laughter of dismissal Molly hoped for never came, Meena's eyebrows came together with a frown, studying her words and the half attempt at a smile. It soon dropped, the facade was evidently seen through.  

Meena's hands dropped away with a sigh that sounded a lot like, "Molly..."  

Folding her hands over her chest, Molly looked away as her best friend pinched the bridge of her nose. "Sorry," she mumbled, unsure who she meant that to. Herself, Meena, Jim's victims, Sherlock, the spirit of her departed father, or some deity watching over her in dismay. Her eyes lifted up to her friend when she began to speak again.

"I think... I think I'll take that tea and the beginning of how exactly that's possible, now please." With that Molly fetched the kettle and filled it with water, skittish with the eyes on her back.

* * *

 

"I can't thank you enough, not a lot of people would do this."

Jim laughed, "I'm not like most." His smile deepened, eyes raking over Nathan as the remaining twin admired himself in a mirror. They had a tailor encircling him, wordlessly measuring him with a tape and taking in where the cuffs of his new jacket ended. Jim pushed off of a wall, strolling over to the rack lined with a variety of ties. Fingers sliding through the fabric, he made sure to touch and study each. He was half-tempted to buy a new suit, they were good for it here, but he really didn't have time for pleasure. He'd done that enough with that mousy pathologist. At the thought of her, his eyes squinted, frown gone when Nathan turned around again. "So tell me a bit about yourself... What was your name again?"

"Nathan." The other man said with a slight smile. "Nathan Russell, Mr... You know, I don't think you told me your name?"

"No," Jim admitted with a light chuckle, "I didn't." The other man frowned when Jim didn't continue on, letting the awkward sound of the tailor shuffling about come over them. Jim held Nathan's gaze in the mirror until he looked away. "Tell me," he said softly, the authority of his words plainly hitting Nathan, "are you seeing anyone?"

Nathan poked the sides of his cheeks with his tongue, a nervous habit he never had the chance or determination to break. He wasn't sure why this man's dark eyes was unnerving him so much, especially since he's been nothing but kind to him thus far. "Not to my knowledge."

"Not to your knowledge?" Jim repeated, stuffing his hands into his trouser's pockets. "What does that mean? Is there a girl... Or a guy you're interested in?"

"I'm not..." Nathan broke off with a sigh.

"Not what?" Jim tilted his head. "Not gay? I never said you were, I don't discriminate. If the question is too-"

"Look, it's fine." More tongue poking. "I'm not dating anyone."

Jim kept the smile on his face easy, raising a brow as he purposely dragged his eyes over Nathan's broad shoulders. "Really? For a guy like yourself, that's a surprise. I'm sure you have people lining up to get your number, eating out of your hands." The tailor hung the tape around his neck, head ducking as he disappeared off into the back. Haltingly Nathan lowered his arms, heartbeat pounding in his ears as he lifted his gaze to stare back at Jim through the mirror, watching as the shorter man crossed the room to stand behind him. 

The tension was stern and palpable, like they were standing in the eye of a massive storm. His skin became prickly with his sudden sweating. There was something wrong here, a threat on the edge of his vision but definitely present. "No." He whispered, hating the knot formed in his throat. He tried his hardest not to flinch at the loose hand on his back, although the weight was insignificant it still felt like a ton, rooting him in place.

"Not even someone you fancy?" That hand began to rub soothing circles through the fabric. It made his skin crawl. Nathan wanted to swat it away, to curse this stranger out but he couldn't. He couldn't properly describe it, his fear. How could a man like this evoke such emotions?

"No," that hand pressed forward, force enough that Nathan corrected himself. "M-Maybe..."

"Maybe?" Jim mumbled, "Maybe?" He asked louder this time.

"There's this..." Nathan tried to think clearly, to form his words properly. "Doctor at St. Barts..." _Why was he telling him all this?_

"Oh really?" He shivered at the smirk, cold piercing his body. _God, when was that tailor coming back?_

Things were just getting good when Jim glanced to the window overlooking the street, catching sight of an impressive figure striding with purpose down a sidewalk. That was enough for him to pull away, all of his plans gone from his mind. That alleged dead heart of his quickened, the glimpse of Sherlock enough for him to step back into the shadows of the store. It was overt that Sherlock was oblivious of the criminal mastermind's resurrection, focus elsewhere, but it still had Jim making his exit. 

A sigh left Nathan's lips, overcome with relief, he was still plagued with the suddenness of the stranger's retreat. And more importantly, what had spooked him? He wasn't sure if he actually wanted the answer to that, gaze lifting once more to his reflection. He had to admit, despite everything that weirdo had a great sense of fashion.


	15. Shutter Release

By no means did Molly think she was a greedy or materialistic person, but even the most selfless individual can crave things. She didn't need expensive cars or makeup, no, Molly was okay with settling with the simpler things. Say if she was to miraculously become a millionaire overnight, she wouldn't protest to moving into a bigger home. Specifically a place with a spacious but comfortable room where she could have her own private library, with the fuzziest socks and the plushiest of couches at hand. On an average day, that's what she hoped for.

Right now the only thing Molly wanted was for the floor to cave in, and to plummet to a grisly death.

Really, she just wanted to escape this painfully awkward situation. She wasn't picky. She'd be more than happy, for whatever reason, if a portal connected to the past could appear in the middle of her living room, and a terrified medieval warrior could hack her to death. A sword or axe was a lot better than this!

Perched on the edge of her sofa, she fumbled with the buttons on her jumper. Already she had three cups of tea, and her bladder was begging to be relieved. The only problem was that she was too scared to move. Why, you might ask? Well, her best friend was glaring at her, impatiently waiting for Molly to cave in and to spill all of the little (destructive) secrets she's been withholding. 

"I'm..." She immediately cut herself off with a cough, wincing at how strangled it sounded. When she peered upwards, she knew she was testing her friend's patience. Letting her hands fall from her buttons and onto her lap, Molly deeply exhaled before she forced herself to continue on. If anyone deserved the truth, it was the woman across from her. "You remember when I thought I had a... A ghost problem?" Meena slowly nodded. "Well, you were right about that. I guess I really did hurt myself, but... I don't know, I guess he'd been watching me a-"

Meena held her hand up. "So he's definitely alive?" Molly nodded. "Are you sure?" More head nodding. She dropped her hand, squinting at the pathologist. "Do you even know how that's possible?"

Molly began to chew on her bottom lip, "I don't know the details, but I can imagine he got his hands on a look-a-like body, like..." She bit hard, hoping that Meena didn't notice her slip up. She had never told her about her involvement in Sherlock's death, that was a promise she was meant to keep. "And, uh, essentially faked his own death."

"So..." Her friend broke off, blinking a few times. "I assume he went into hiding, but for whatever reason he made himself known to you, because...?"

"I don't know." Molly sunk into the sofa cushions, bitter with how honest she was about that. She couldn't think of a logical meaning behind Jim's actions, that out of everyone in this massive world, he chose her. If anything, she thought he'd go to Sherlock first, to reignite their rivalry... Or whatever their twisted relationship was. Instead of all that, he slept in her bed, and ate the food she made for him.  

Eventually Meena asked her a question that she'd been dreading. "I take it you haven't gone to the police?"

"I..." She sucked in a deep breath. "No..." Her friend sighed, sounding a lot like her name.

"And why is that? Did he say he was going to kill you if you did?"

Molly could have used that as her way out, make excuses about why she slept with Jim, despite everything. But the look her best friend was giving her, the raw concern, made her admit "No." Clearly, that took Meena aback.

"You're kidding me... He didn't bring it up once?"

She shrugged, "It never came up...?" She was overcome with guilt when Meena sagged backwards, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"Oh, dear. What did you get yourself into?" Obviously, Molly didn't know - in fact, she couldn't comprehend how her life turned out this way. She opened her mouth, although still unsure what she could possibly say, when she was cut off by the front doorbell ringing.

 

Greg Lestrade's friendly smile dropped when someone unfamiliar opened the door. He frowned, glancing at the metal flat number hanging on the wall, to verify he hadn't gotten the address mixed up. No, it was the right one. When he turned back to the young woman standing in the entrance, he cleared his throat. "Is Molly Hooper home?"

The woman frowned. "She might be. Who are you?" Greg fought back a glare. He wasn't too fond of this hostile attitude, but thankfully, the woman was moved out of the way. Molly took her place in the door frame. She didn't look too happy to see him either, but she quickly covered it up with a polite smile.

"Hi, Greg. What are you doing here?"

Despite everything, Greg's mood considerably brightened. "Hi, Molly. I don't mean to be a bother, but can I come in? I just have a few questions."

Molly glanced behind her, sending her company an unknown look. "Um... Sure." She moved to the side, letting him slip in. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

* * *

_  
Meanwhile_

 

"I can't thank you enough for this."

Sherlock waved the comment off, wordlessly accepting the papers offered. As he read them over, his visitor continued to ramble on, nervousness constantly making him move about. If he wasn't bouncing his leg, or rubbing his hands together, he was craning his neck to look the parlour room over. It was highly irritating, if not distracting. Immensely craving a cigarette, Sherlock finished reading the documents, and then tossed them onto the coffee table before him. 

He leaned backwards in his chair, steepling his fingers as his brows furrowed. "Mr. Russell, if I do take up the case, are you sure you can afford it?"

Nathan glanced away, grimacing. "Even if I have to take a loan out, I'll do it. I want my brother's killer found."

"You're not comfortable with the Yard's ongoing investigation?"

He lowered his gaze to the floor. "I have nothing against them, but I want some progress made. Not only for justice, but so myself and my parents can find some peace. I may not have gotten along with Michael all the time, but he's still my family. I can't let him go like that, not when a lunatic is free to roam the streets."

Sherlock nodded, "I see. Well, Mr. Russell. You can rest easy, I'll find your brother's murderer." Nathan's head snapped upwards, mouth agape.

"R-really?" He jumped to his feet, grinning as he held his hand out. The detective merely frowned at it, making no move from his seat. Embarrassed, Nathan let his hand fall down. "Thank you. I can't tell you how much this means to me."

"No, but I can imagine." Sherlock gave a stiff smile, climbing to his feet. "I'll show you out." He led his visitor to the front door. Just as Nathan was donning his coat again, John walked in. The doctor took one surprised look at Sherlock's company, and held open the door, smiling awkwardly. He gave his friend a sidelong glance, when he said softly, "We'll arrange the cost later."

Ushered out of the flat, a constant stream of 'thank yous' left Nathan's mouth as he made his exit. 

The door falling to a close behind him, John shrugged out of his coat, placing it on a hook. "What was all that about?"

Sherlock didn't say anything for a moment, retracing his steps to the living room. With a running jump, he flopped onto the couch. Grunting from the impact, he stared up at the ceiling, squinting as he asked, "Did you see it?"

John walked over, shaking his head in confusion. "Did I see what?"

With a loud huff, Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Obviously his outfit, John."

"His..." John broke off. After a pause, he conceded, "Actually, I didn't. Why?" 

"He wanted to negotiate price, but Mr. Russell wore a new and expensive suit."

"Maybe he was lying about a budget?" 

"No, I don't think he was. His shoes were worn down, in fact, they didn't match the outfit."

John rose a brow, "Then, he bought it recently?" 

"Or..." Sherlock drew out on a hiss, "He'd been wearing something entirely different, but made a sudden change."

"Like, what? Someone bought it for him?"

He pulled himself up into a sitting position. "Precisely! But if so, who bought it? And why?" Out of the blue, this waiter was murdered violently, with no apparent reason. Or more accurately, he was killed for a reason that Sherlock hadn't discovered yet. It may just be the beginning of this case, but already he could tell something wasn't right. That there was an odd energy to the air.

Swiftly he sprang to his feet, fetching his coat. As he was doing the buttons up, John hurried after him, calling out "And where are you going?" He tossed a glance over his shoulder.

"To apply for a job. Do keep up, John."


	16. Shutter Speed

They all stood awkwardly in the living room, not sure what to say to one another. Surprisingly enough, Molly was the first to break through that tension and say, "Meena, this is Greg Lestrade. He's a friend of mine that works at the Yard." 

"Does he now?"

Molly winced at her friend's flat tone, sparing another glance at the inspector - thankfully, he didn't seem too offended. However, she didn't want to press her luck. With a gentle hand, and a meaningful stare, she prodded Meena until the nurse took her cue. In a considerably lighter voice, she said, "It was nice meeting you, Greg." Meena's smile dipped when Molly showed her out, uttering under her breath, "We'll talk about this later."

None too pleased about the idea of that, Molly simply nodded, and held open the door. She watched Meena for a few seconds, making sure she jogged down the steps and to her parked car, before she went back inside. Clasping her hands together, she tried not to feel too embarrassed as she asked, "Is it okay if I have a bathroom break before your questions?"

Greg's brows knitted together, "Uh, yeah. Go ahead."

"Thanks." Ducking her head, she hurried out of the room, hoping the few minutes she'd been given could calm her racing heart. Shutting the door behind her, Molly paused, hand still wrapped around the knob as she listened. Faintly, she could hear Greg shuffle about, most likely looking over her bookcase. With a soft sigh, finally she released her grip, and turned to the toilet.

* * *

_Meanwhile_

 

"And you're sure we'll be able to contact your references?" The balding man lowered the paper, brow raised at the polite smile awaiting him.

"Of course."

He hummed lightly, gaze glancing to read the list of names again. He'd long since made up his mind, but there was a sense of enjoyment when it came to making them wait. Although, he suspected this newcomer wouldn't sweat and squirm like the others. _Good_.

At last, the paper was set down on the desk with finality.  _Less work for him_. "All right, Mr...?"

"Ainsworth." The other calmly supplied.

He nodded. "Right, Ainsworth, we run a tight ship here but I take it you're not afraid of a little work?"

"Not at all."

A rare smile blossomed on the restaurant manager's face. "Wonderful! We're closed on Sunday and Mondays. Opening to the public is always exactly at noon, aside for Saturday, which is half an hour past six. I expect you to be here an hour early before a shift, uniform ironed and clean shaven. Any questions?" 

"Only one."

He settled back in his seat, giving an impatient wave of his hand. "Well, go on." Once more, the man before him showed not a flicker of irritation. 

Sherlock leaned forward, allowing a little of his excitement to seep into his voice as he asked, "When can I start?" 

* * *

 

"I'm sure you're curious about this visit, and the need for it."

"Yes," Molly reluctantly admitted with a tense smile. Her mind was already racing with countless possibilities, that the inspector somehow knew of the man she'd been seeing. How she'd been the cause of another dying.

"Well..." Greg paused, coughing into his sleeve. "We're investigating a murder."

Molly couldn't help but wince, leaning into her seat. "Are you?" Greg nodded. Although, surprisingly, he seemed almost... Sheepish? Not quite the look you give to someone who you're going to be arresting. 

"And unfortunately, you were the last one to see him." There was a need then, a desire to speak the truth - it nearly sprang from her lips, ready to disclose everything. "Do you remember anything odd? His attitude, or something he might have said in passing?" 

Molly's brows furrowed. "Uh, wh-"

"I know that might be a hard thing to do, considering how time has already passed since you were last in that car."  _Car?_

Slowly, she held a hand up. "Er - Greg?"

Taken aback by being cut off, the inspector owlishly blinked at her. "Yes...?"

"Are you... Are you talking about that cab driver? The one from the news?"

"Well, yes?"

"Oh." All of the tension momentarily left her shoulders. It came back, when the man across from her asked a question.

"Who did you think I was talking about?"

"I..." Molly wildly waved her hands, as if trying to get rid of the inquiry hanging in the air. "Nothing, just..." She glanced away, wondering absently how much she was condemning herself. "All of this is a bit unnerving, really set my head on the wrong way. Do you know what I mean?"

Strange enough, that seemed to have reassured Greg a bit, "Yeah, I do." A sad sort of a smile worked its way onto his face, "Look, no one deserves to be a part of this sort of business. Least of all, someone like you." He gave her such a look of compassion, that the guilt of everything loomed above her. It would be seconds until it would crash into her, and after it did, she had no idea what she would do. What she would say... Admit to...

But before she could do any of that, mercifully, Greg was picking up the remains of their conversation again. Taking a notepad from his inner jacket pocket, he flipped to a page, and began to read it out. "It says here, that you were listed as Mr. Contos's last recorded transaction." He glanced up at her. "Do you remember where you were going?"

"Um..." Molly glowered as she thought back. In truth, she really didn't need to think too hard about it, the cab ride shared with the imaginary ghost Jim, most certainly made it something she remembered. However, the contrast of Greg's friendly smile and his sharp perceptive gaze was jarring. She knew, in a sort of removed way, that he was an inspector - but to be on the end of that was completely alien to her. 

Sherlock may make his quips about Greg, but no one could deny that not only did he take his job seriously, but he was bloody good at it as well. That in mind, Molly tucked her trembling hands into her lap, and tried to answer his questions as quickly and earnestly as she could. "Right, it was the day of that storm. Well, let's see... I'd taken the tube on my way home, but mistakenly got off at the wrong stop, so I caught a taxi to take me the rest of the way." Molly lowered her gaze to the ground, listening to Greg hum and jot down her words. "I didn't talk to him, aside for saying my address. The radio was on the whole time."

Without looking at her, Greg asked, "I know you said you two didn't converse, but during the ride, did anything strike you as irregular?"

"Irregular?" Molly faintly mumbled to herself. She could see the scene stretched before her, Jim sat by her side, head resting on his knuckles as he smiled crookedly. Silently mocking her. Inadvertently, her lips pursed. "No. The only thing I could say was memorable, would be the slow traffic. But that isn't odd for London."

For what seemed the first time since they started, a genuine smile cracked knowingly on his face.  In a move not quite professional for her interrogator, Greg grunted in agreement, "I'd drink to that." Following that lighthearted exchange, Greg spent another minute or so writing down his notes, before he made the exaggerated gesture of snapping the little book closed. With a drawn out groan, he hauled himself to his feet, and huffed out a, "Well... Everything seems to be in order."

In a strange sense of awkwardness, they migrated back over to the front door. Greg was in the process of doing his jacket back up, while Molly anxiously lingered. She was currently divided over being ecstatic that she hadn't been arrested, and guilt ridden over the trust the inspector had placed in her - intentional or not, she felt as though she'd betrayed him, and the idea was eating her alive.

Before she could clamp a hand over her mouth, she inquired, "Don't... Don't you need a witness? Someone to verify my alibi?" To her astonishment, the other made a sudden sound. It took her a second to realize what it was, that he'd snorted. 

Greg shook his head, "I don't think that's necessary, that _you_   of all people are going around the city, killing innocent cab drivers. But if you do become a proper suspect..." He teasingly rose a brow. "Then I'm sure that the staff at St. Barts, or even that friend of yours, can vouch for you."

Molly gave a tight smile, "Let's hope so." She stepped to the side when Greg opened the door, holding it open for him. The eager words, "Goodbye," were ready to leave her lips, when he turned around. His apologetic visage took her completely aback. 

"I'm really sorry about the mess I brought you in, Molly."

Speechless, she hurriedly waved her hand. "Are you kidding me? You of all people don't have to say that, you're just trying to do your job."

"That might be so, but..." Greg frowned, conflicted as he considered something. Molly didn't have to wait long to question what that was, as soon enough he was saying, "I don't want to overstep any boundaries, but I wasn't joking about that drink. If one day you're free and you want to go for a pint... Only if you want to! And I swear, nothing funny just-" He cut himself off with a heavy sigh, giving his head a firm shake before he continued, "You have my number if you need me, okay?"

It was Molly's knee jerk reaction, to respond with a decidedly casual, "Isn't there some rule about asking a murder suspect for a couple of drinks?"

With a feigned lazy shrug of his shoulders, Greg admitted, "Probably," as he stepped through the door frame. They exchanged fond smiles and waves.

Leaning on the wood of the entry way, Molly watched as he walked down the steps to his parked car. When she finally watched it drive off, she slipped back inside. Door shut and locked firmly, the last remaining strength in her legs was gone. She slid down to the ground, right away hunching over, and buried her head into her bent arms. With a great watery sigh, she squeezed her eyes closed as tight as she could, and with every fibre of her being, she prayed. Prayed, that she could go back to being invisible - that everyone would forget about her again. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone. I feel like I should start off by apologizing for how long it took me to update (especially since you've waited for so long for a short chapter). I really have no excuse, this has been sitting on my computer since the 27th of September, 2018. Which is completely awful of me, I know, but I'm happy to say I'll be updating this fic again regularly.
> 
> Thank you, my dearies, for patiently waiting for me. xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> Once again the beautiful cover was done by [whyimmathere](http://whyimmathere.tumblr.com/), who loves to torture me by making amazing things. ~~< 3~~  
> On a side note...
> 
> I have no idea what I'm doing with this fic, it was supposed to be a oneshot now it's turned into something else entirely. I'm terrified, please send help...
> 
> Quote is from Kim Edwards. xx


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